


Paradise Child

by capriciouslouis



Series: IIMH Universe [3]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-19
Updated: 2016-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-09 19:50:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 62,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7814854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capriciouslouis/pseuds/capriciouslouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say that good things come to those who wait, and Harry and Louis have definitely done that. A new town, a new home, a new life, a new start…and yet this isn’t the beginning for them in any shape or form. In fact, this is their happy ending.</p><p>Yet they also say that the grass is always greener on the other side, which means that no matter how perfect things would appear to be, there’s always that one little thing we all want and know we can never have. Life has never been kind to Harry; he knows that when you want something badly enough, you have to grab it with both hands. Even if it isn’t yours to take.</p><p>(Another repost from my tumblr, due to request!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Louis placed the last cardboard box on the floor and looked around, wondering whether he’d actually be able to find away to get past all of them. He and Harry had been so focused on removing the boxes from the van that they’d never really thought about whether or not it was sensible to just dump them randomly in the hall. Turned out that it wasn’t, because it wasn’t the largest hall he’d ever seen. Still, it was theirs, and that was enough for Louis.

Now that the call had come through saying that Derek was safely back under lock and key, Louis felt far more comfortable with their home – especially as Kylie had been so pleased by the news that he’d forgotten to be huffy about Harry’s disobedience and had sent ahead a couple of provisions in the form of alcohol, biscuits and a doormat all wrapped up in brown paper which they’d found on the doorstep. Louis wasn’t sure how the alcohol would come in handy, but the doormat would definitely give a homely feel to their cottage. A cottage was the only way to describe it; it was too small to be a house and was the typical cottage cliché; some kind of trellis over the doorway in a sort of archway with an ivy-type plant creeping around it and dangling in loose green tendrils over the toffee-coloured wooden door, a doorknocker instead of a doorbell, and the roof wasn’t thatched, but it was some kind of imitation of it. The whole building was ever so slightly crooked, leaning a little to the left, but that just gave it character. The windows were ‘leaded’ with a criss-cross pattern, so it looked like each window was made up of glass diamond shapes all fitted together like a jigsaw. It had an overgrown, tangled garden and no one had attended to it or pulled any weeds for a substantial amount of time, but Louis didn’t care much about that.

Basically, it was like a cottage straight out of a fairy tale; it would have been the spitting image of the seven dwarves’ house from Daisy and Phoebe’s book of fairy stories if it hadn’t been for the satellite dish that someone had installed on the roof. Louis’ mouth quirked upwards with amusement when he thought about it: they could get Sky – Harry would be happy.

Speak of the devil: Harry came wandering aimlessly through the front door. He had his old grey beanie jammed down over his curls, keeping them under control as when he’d woken up surrounded by the aftermath of last night’s party, he’d declared his hair impossible for the day. Louis had no objections; Harry looked bloody adorable in a beanie. Along with his beanie, he was wearing one of Louis’ ugliest jumpers, the kind that Louis only had so that he could assault people’s eyes when he didn’t like them, and skinny jeans so sinfully tight that Louis wasn’t sure whether to be turned on or amused; it must have felt like they were an extra skin layer and he didn’t envy Harry for having to peel them off later. Excited to be moving in, Harry’s eyes were bright and sparkled a devastating green as he walked forwards with his hands shoved into his pockets (as far as they would go, anyway; the pockets of the jeans were as tight as the rest of them). He had a spot on his chin, and Louis found himself fixated on it; there was something ridiculously sexy about Harry with spots that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Grinning, Harry turned his head and opened his mouth to make a comment – and then, unexpectedly, his left foot encountered the box that Louis had just put down and he tripped. Luckily, Louis was used to Harry being less than coordinated, and he reached out and snagged the back of Harry’s shirt, hauling him upwards before he could fall. Shaking his head fondly, he slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders and tilted his head sideways to brush his hair against Harry’s cheek; he had to stand on his tiptoes slightly so he could reach to do it. Beside him, he felt Harry’s smile widen.

“This is us,” Louis said cheerfully.

“Yup,” Harry agreed.

The two of them looked around, admiring the hallway. The whole house was just like it had been in the leaflet, except without all of the furnishings. It was quiet and small, on the very outskirts of Brighton away from all of the busyness and the traffic and pollution, and laughing kids on skateboards. It truly was tucked away from everything; their own little paradise. Or at least, it would be, once they’d sorted everything out. Already Louis could see where their possessions would fit, although he was most worried about the fact that although he could see upstairs and there was a reasonably unobstructed view into the master bedroom, there didn’t appear to be a bed. Which was somewhat of a problem, seeing as they didn’t have one.

“We might be sleeping on the floor tonight, Harold.”

“Who said anything about sleeping?” Harry asked cheekily. “There’s only one way to celebrate moving into a new house, Louis; I’m sure you know what it is.”

“You have a one track mind.”

“It’s tradition!” Harry protested innocently, “we did it last time I moved in with you; I don’t see why we should break the habit.”

“Oh, shut up!” Louis laughed delightedly, and he slapped Harry playfully on the bum. “You horny teenage sex-addict, you!”

Harry winked and then laughed along with him. “You love it.” Sighing, he leaned against Louis. “On a serious note, though, this place is a mess. We really should start sorting everything out, getting things organized…”

“We should.” Louis turned his head a little to grin at Harry. “But really, does that sound like us?”

“Of course not,” snorted Harry, “come on! There’s a whole load of stuff we could be doing other than unpacking.” He grabbed Louis’ hand and tugged him towards the door.

“Right,” Louis said as they stumbled outside, slamming the door behind him, “when I was buying this place, the estate agent guy told me it was a proper bargain, because not only do we get the house, and the garden, but we also get a bit of land as well – kind of like a beach.” He cast his arm outwards to indicate the surrounding area. “Somewhere around here there’s a kind of path, and it goes down the hill and goes down to a kind of cove…you can’t get to it in any other way. It’s ours; it’s part of the house.”

Harry’s whole face lit up excitedly. “Come on, then! Let’s find it!” He started looking cheerfully around, their hands still linked. Usually, he would have been afraid to hold hands with Louis in case a load of unpleasant teenagers turned up and started heckling them, but he couldn’t have cared less right then. The bit of garden around their house was massive, and there was no one around to stare. Harry pulled off his beanie and crammed it into his pocket as they walked; it was too warm for beanies.

“There!” Louis pointed at a little pathway worn into the grass, and he started following it, with Harry hurrying cheerfully behind him and rubbing his knuckles with his thumb.

When they reached what appeared to be the end of the path, they discovered that it led to kind of a downhill slope that was almost impossible to climb down whilst holding hands; they were determined to try anyway, and nearly fell down the hill several times, but neither of them cared much about trivial things like _that_! Cheerfully scrambling down, they eagerly picked their way down the sandy path on the hillside, grabbing tufts of stringy grass whenever they thought they were about to lose their footing, hauling each other back before they could fall…they worked together, like they did with everything else. Every time Harry nearly fell flat on his face, Louis laughed, and Harry grinned and secretly planned to tickle the life out of him when they reached the bottom.

When the path trailed out, they were faced with a little wooden gate, only reaching Harry’s waist, padlocked shut, and typically, Louis had forgotten the keys and didn’t fancy trekking all the way back up that steep slope again to fetch them – especially as the lock looked so rusty that he wasn’t sure he could have gotten the key into it in the first place. Shrugging resignedly, he planted one foot on the lowest wooden slat, testing it with his weight, then swung a leg over the fence and clambered easily over, releasing Harry’s hand for a moment so he wouldn’t fall. As soon as he was safely over, he reached out a hand to help Harry climb over as well, which Harry accepted – not that he needed it, but why pass up on an opportunity to hold Louis’ hand? Never before had he felt quite so relaxed about it; there was nobody looking, nobody judging, nobody knew they were there. Even the removal men had left long before they’d left the house to do their little exploration. There were no flats above or below or beside them to have a go at them for being too loud. No one was wandering around to look at two guys holding hands with curious and then critical eyes.

For the first time in far too long, they were truly alone.

With that beautiful thought running through his mind, Harry led Louis onto the beach, and they both blinked, because it looked like the kind of idealistic beach from a Caribbean holiday brochure, not a little cove in Brighton. The sand, rather than being a dark gold, dulled by pollution and thousands of dirty feet and children digging it up and patting it back all day every day, was pale, almost white, like it had been bleached. Crawling up the beach a few hundred metres away were the kind of waves that Harry had only ever seen before in films; perfect, flawless blue, almost the same colour as the sky. They lazily licked the sand making soft whooshing noises as they crashed against the land. Virtually untouched apart from a small pile of burnt sticks remaining from someone’s old bonfire, the whole beach looked like it had barely been set foot on before. Harry wondered whether the previous owners had come onto the beach one last time and lit the fire as a kind of farewell ceremony. Come to think of it, he wouldn’t mind doing something like that himself; he’d heard that driftwood fires were blue, and it sounded like something he would want to see.

The beach was one of the most breathtaking things Harry had ever laid eyes on – and it was _theirs._

Louis tapped his arm, and Harry looked over at him with a smile. The two of them grinned at each other for a moment or so and then Louis kicked off his espadrilles and tossed them onto the sand.

“We’ve got a beach,” he said unapologetically, “we might as well make the most of it.”

Harry shrugged. “True.” Pulling his own shoes off, he laid them carefully beside Louis’ and then shook his head in amusement. “It’s going to be bloody freezing in there.”

Carelessly waving his hand like the idea of possible hypothermia was a minor inconvenience, Louis snorted “When has anything like that ever stopped us before? We’re young. We might get frostbite, but I’m sure we won’t miss a couple of fingers.” He laughed.

They set off across the sands, sprinting at full speed towards the ocean, and then Louis jumped and Harry hopped, and with a splash they immersed themselves in the sea. As Harry had predicted, it was freezing, and he was pretty sure that his whole body turned to ice the moment he leapt in – but Louis just laughed, and Harry did too, shaking his already wet hair and flicking droplets of freezing water all over Louis’ face. Louis laughed in mock outrage and splashed water all over him, and Harry giggled and staggered back a few steps. Already he’d figured out that scrambling into the water wearing jeans had not been the best idea, especially not jeans quite as tight as the ones he was wearing. They were completely saturated and clung to his legs even more than they had before; he would probably have to have them surgically removed later on. Harry didn’t care much about that. Louis was somewhat better off; his rolled up trousers were more suited to the water and were looser so they billowed around him like he had made a pair of shorts out of a parachute, but he was still waist high in water and therefore completely soaked.

“We’re never going to get dry after this!” Harry spluttered as Louis splashed him once again with another giant wave.

“I wasn’t under the impression that you minded being wet,” Louis countered immediately, and Harry felt his lips curve upwards into an immature grin at the innuendo.

By the time Louis had covered him with water for about the sixth time, and Harry was colder  than he’d ever been in his life, from the waist down, anyway, he figured that there was no point in even _trying_ to stay dry any more. Bouncing up and down on his toes, he appraised Louis for a moment or so.

“You want to keep splashing me, Tomlinson? You don’t know what I could do.”

In response, Louis childishly poked out his tongue and then showered him with another barrage of water. Harry raised his eyebrows at the challenge, grinned wickedly, and then hurled himself at Louis, slamming into him with the full force of his body and knocking him right over. Louis yelped as Harry’s body hit him, and he fell backwards, Harry falling with him and having the common sense to take a deep breath and shut his mouth before they hit the water – although Louis didn’t figure that out until they’d gone under. 

The salt water stung Harry’s eyes, so he closed them and groped blindly for Louis through the water, feeling for the sharp curve of an elbow or the sharp point of a collarbone. It was Louis’ chin that he found first; grabbing hold of it, he pulled himself closer to Louis, wrapped his arms around him and then felt around for his mouth. Once he’d found it, he wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist and kissed him hungrily, pressing their mouths together hard to avoid any unwanted salt water pouring in. He’d had a mouthful of sea a couple of years ago and was by no means eager to relive the experience. Under the water, he and Louis stayed firmly wrapped in an embrace until Harry’s lungs started – not screaming, because he had no breath left for that; it felt more like they had either grown to a ridiculous size and exploded, or shrunk to the size of peas! Groaning inwardly, Harry shoved Louis away and kicked upwards; when his head broke the surface of the water, he took the deepest, most violently shuddering breath he’d ever taken in his life. Closely following him, Louis burst above the water as well and coughed up what looked like half the ocean; he’d clearly not bothered closing his mouth when he fell over backwards, or perhaps he’d been too surprised. His hair was plastered flat against his head. Harry giggled, even though he knew his own hair was dripping down past his shoulders now that all the curls had been shocked out of it with all the water.

Louis went to put his feet down, then discovered that when Harry had leapt at him, they’d fallen out a fair bit further to sea than they had realized and were no longer in their depth. Shaking his hair out of his eyes, he swam over towards Harry and started floating alongside him – then he rested his cheek on Harry’s chest and closed his eyes. Harry’s heart thudded happily underneath Louis’ face, and he felt Louis smile even as he smiled himself and reached out a hand to place on Louis’ back, pulling the older boy a little closer against him.

“This is where it all begins for us,” Harry promised, and he tilted his head downwards to brush his cheek against Louis’ soaking wet hair, secretly hoping that it would dry into a ruffled, disorganized mess, because to be quite honest it was just unbelievably hot, and he didn’t often have ulterior motives behind his romantic gestures but that was one of the best reasons he could have had. “No more mess-ups, no more stupidity.”

“No more lies?” Louis asked quietly, and he didn’t say it accusingly; he said it as a genuine question: would Harry lie to him again? Would he keep things from him because he thought it was for the best, when really it would endanger the both of them and their relationship and make them both miserable in the long run?

Harry kissed him lightly on one perfect cheekbone. “No more lies,” he promised, and Louis knew that he meant it.


	2. Chapter 2

It took far too much effort to get everything sorted on the first night, which was why after unpacking the majority of the furniture and attempting to jostle it into the right place, Harry and Louis quickly gave up on fixing everything into their perfect dream house right away. For starters, they really didn’t have a bed, so they ended up dumping the mattress on the floor and turning their coats into makeshift pillows. Secondly, they appeared to have mislaid the box which contained most of their clothes (they’d probably put another box on top of it or something) and therefore when they’d staggered back into the house the evening before, after wasting the entire afternoon throwing water around and rolling around in the sand until they turned into giant balls of wet grit, they’d had nothing to change into. In the end, Louis had ended up wearing one of Harry’s oldest and loosest hoodies, which was big on Harry and even bigger on him, and he had paired that with a pair of boxers that had turned murky grey and were not what one might call the sexiest of underwear. Harry had dug out one of Louis’ jumpers once again, and put on a pair of old baggy shorts – perhaps they ought to have swapped, but they secretly liked sharing clothes, and it made the whole thing more fun anyway.

Still, a mattress on the floor wasn’t the comfiest sleeping arrangement. Add that to the fact that they had been too exhausted the night before to do much more than tumble into the shower together and drag on the first old clothes they laid their hands on before staggering to the mattress on the floor, and perhaps you would understand why Harry was determined not to wake up, even though light was filtering in through the holey old curtains that they needed to replace and he couldn’t get away with feigning sleep for much longer, especially not since he could feel that Louis was awake from the way he was tracing soft spirals against Harry’s wrist with the tip of one finger.

“I know you’re awake, by the way,” Louis murmured before Harry could make the decision of how he was going to innocently fake waking up, bearing in mind his appalling acting skills.

“Oh.” Harry relaxed a little more, and leaned backwards into Louis’ body to steal a little more of his warmth. “Well, you can’t blame me, can you? I’m tired.” He tilted his head and lightly nibbled Louis’ earlobe. “You know that.”

“Yeah, I do. We broke our tradition!” Louis mourned; “we fell asleep far too quickly last night.” Sighing wistfully, he moved his fingers from Harry’s wrist to his hip, curling around it and holding him tight.

“True. But I’m sure we’ll find time to remedy that.” Harry laughed mischievously and caught hold of Louis’ hand as it trailed down his thigh. “It’s too early in the morning for teasing, Tomlinson. Leave off.”

Louis reached out and picked his phone up off the edge of the pillow where it nestled in a cocoon of socks to keep it from being broken if it fell. He checked it, then said “Think again” and waved it underneath Harry’s nose.

Blinking, Harry grabbed the phone and examined it in disbelief. 1:46pm. They’d slept completely through the morning and emerged again in the afternoon, and he hadn’t had any idea. Bewildered, Harry raked his unruly hair back with one hand and shrugged.

“Time flies when you’re having fun, I guess.”

“Fun? You were asleep!”

“Yeah, but I was asleep next to _you_.” Harry yawned and stretched before Louis could comment, and he wrinkled his nose. “Mm. I’m not hungry. I should be hungry, but I’m not. We slept through breakfast – and lunch.”

Louis chuckled and ruffled Harry’s hair. “Niall would have a fit.”

Ducking in protest, Harry twisted around and asked, “come on, then, if we’re not eating, what _are_ we going to do?”

“Well, it’s our first full day in a new place; we don’t know anybody, and nobody knows us. It’s time for that to change. Let’s go meet the neighbours.”

~*~

Of course, walking down the street dressed as they were right then wouldn’t exactly have endeared them to their new neighbours (unless, of course, they’d moved into the kind of kinky neighbourhood where people were into that sort of thing) so they had to dig out some decent clothes first – but before all too long Harry was wearing his white _Love Is Equal_ shirt (in case walking down the street hand in hand with Louis wouldn’t be indicative enough of his sexual preferences) and black jeans, looser than the ones he’d worn the day before (he’d most definitely learnt his lesson from yesterday!) and Louis was cheerfully pulling a jumper over his head and a pair of Chinos, and then they headed happily out of the house

The moment they turned the corner, they found themselves on some kind of pathway that was gently sloping upwards until it got to a pretty steep hill – there seemed to be an abundance of them in the area. Harry didn’t mind too much; he’d get some more exercise, after all. After the first few metres, Louis reached out and tapped his wrist, and then Harry smiled and curled his fingers around Louis’, realizing that he’d forgotten already. Wasn’t Brighton supposed to be the gay capital of Britain? Besides, this was their new start. Might as well introduce themselves as the resident gay couple rather than revealing themselves as one once people had gotten used to them. Harry’s smile grew as they walked, Louis carelessly swinging his arm so that their interlocked hands swung between them. Inching a little closer, Harry rested his head on Louis’ shoulder and Louis released his hand to put an arm around his waist instead.

They walked like that for a little while, and Harry’s face started to hurt a little from the intensity of his smile, but he couldn’t manage to dim it even a little bit.

All of a sudden, when they’d only taken a couple of steps up the steep slope, a horrible shrieking rent the air, shattering the calm like the beautiful quiet had been a glass and someone had dropped it so that it fractured into hundreds of pieces, all of which appeared to be yelling. It was one of the loudest and most excruciating noises either of them had ever heard, and Louis staggered, recoiling away from Harry to clap his hands over his ears with an agonized expression.

“What the hell is that?” he yelled. “It sounds like someone’s putting a kitten in a blender!”

Harry might have stopped to laugh through his grimace at Louis’ appalling metaphor, but he stopped dead when he realized that if you listened past the sheer volume of the caterwauling, it was distinguishable as a noise he recognized – a child, and a young one, screaming at the top of their lungs. Harry’s eyes widened, and he instantly set off at full pelt up the hill, sprinting faster than he ever remembered running in his life – excepting, perhaps, when they had fled from Derek, except that was too blurry with adrenaline for him to remember properly. This was primal; some long-buried instinct that he couldn’t ignore. A child was crying, and he had to rescue it.

“Harry!”

Ignoring Louis’ cry, Harry rushed up the hill at a speed that he hadn’t realized he possessed when he wasn’t being held at gunpoint, and his heart was squeezing itself into oblivion by the time he reached the top, desperately gasping for breath. Instantly, he homed in on the source of the noise and his eyes widened in surprise.

At the very top of the hill, standing beside a pushchair, was a girl. Her hair was bright, electric blue, apart from the tips, which were dyed purple. She had very long fake eyelashes and lots of eyeliner on, and sparkling silver eyeshadow. A pair of enormous hipster glasses were perched on the end of her nose. Her whole face was pale with make-up and her vivid hair had whipped up in a cloud around her face. She was wearing denim shorts, black tights and a _Hello Kitty_ shirt which looked like it was several sizes too small for her, but still fit her remarkably well; she was unusually skinny and quite short, not helped by the fact that in her bright green Converse sneakers, she was flat on the ground. Harry had never seen such a mismatched girl before, but his attentions were not really focused on her, or the desperate look on her face, but the thing she held at arm’s length in front of her.

It was a baby, Harry quickly realized, and he wasn’t sure whether it was a boy or a girl – in fact, all he could see of it was curly dark hair and the biggest mouth he’d ever seen, which was wide open and screaming. The baby was bright red in the face from yelling. He had no idea how old it was, although it appeared to be able to hold its head up, which was something. The girl holding it seemed terrified; she was hanging on to it by the stomach, and Harry saw that her long purple nails were chipped. She had an unlit cigarette clamped between her teeth, and was staring at the child looking almost afraid.

“Are you okay?” Harry called, raising his voice to be heard over the baby.

“What?” she shouted back, although with her lips still holding the cigarette in place, it came out sounding more like ‘wmph’.

“Are you okay?” repeated Harry as loudly as he could.

“She won’t stop crying!” the girl yelled, allowing her cigarette to fall from her mouth as she helplessly thrust the child towards him, wretchedly trying to rid herself of it.

Instinctively, Harry grabbed the tiny girl as she was shoved into his hands, and he found himself cradling her protectively against his chest. Her big brown eyes widened as she stared at this stranger who was suddenly clinging to her, and so did her mouth as she prepared to start screaming at an even louder volume.

Seeming to think that Harry hadn’t heard, the girl once again shouted, “She won’t stop –”

Before she could get the final word out, the baby blinked uncertainly at Harry, then the awful yelling cut off and she closed her mouth, staring innocently up at him as the bright red started to fade instantly from her cheeks.

“Oh,” the girl said limply, staring at the baby. “She’s never done that before.”

The little girl hiccuped uncertainly and then burrowed her face into Harry’s chest, making odd little contented mewling noises like a tiny baby animal and wriggling against him. Her little hands grabbed his shirt and clung to handfuls of material like she was grimly trying to anchor herself more firmly against him. In response, Harry tightened his grip and held her even closer, and she seemed far happier with the arrangement as he clamped her closely to his ribs with both arms. Clearly she had been frightened at being held so loosely – he couldn’t blame her, really.

“She likes you,” the girl announced in surprise.

Harry wasn’t sure how he was supposed to respond to that, so he looked down at the little girl in his arms and asked, “What’s her name?”

“Alice,” the girl said, and seemed astonished at herself. “Her name is Alice,” she said again with a little more certainty. “I’m Micheline.”

“Harry,” came the response. “I’d shake your hand, but…” _But I appear to be holding your baby._ He shrugged and smiled at her apologetically.

Micheline smiled back, and she tucked a strand of blue hair behind her ear, leaning to one side slightly and shifting her weight. Instantly, Harry was wary. He knew that look – that, _I’m going to test the boundaries and see how willing you are to flirt with me_ look, and he also knew from past experience that Louis wouldn’t like it one little bit.

“Harry!”

Louis’ voice from behind him made him start a little, and all of a sudden Louis was at his side, staring at Harry in confusion. His gaze dropped to the baby that Harry was holding, and then to Micheline, with her distinctively come-hither seductive gaze and inviting posture. As Harry had predicted, Louis’ expression soured visibly and he reached out to put his arm back around Harry’s waist in a possessive gesture.

“Oh. Hello,” he said, looking at Micheline.

It didn’t take her long to suss out what was going on – honestly, she’d have been a bit stupid if she hadn’t figured it out straightaway, bearing in mind quite how closely Louis and Harry were standing together and how Louis had suddenly gone on the defensive and pushed his chest out a little without realizing, subconciously warning her off. Nodding to herself, Micheline relaxed and her smile lost a little of its sparkle.

“Hiya,” she replied calmly, tucking her elbow into her side and waggling her fingers in an odd little wave.

Louis wasn’t going to be so easily calmed. “Um,” he continued a little pointedly, “correct me if I’m wrong, but my fiance would appear to be holding your baby.” He raised an eyebrow sternly at her.

“Right! Yeah, he is. She was crying, and I kind of gave her to him, and she shut up,” explained Micheline helpfully.

“Is that what people do around here, then, just shove their babies into the arms of random strangers?” demanded Louis perhaps a little too sharply.

Shrugging, she shoved her hands into her pockets. “I don’t know. I’ve only been here a couple of weeks myself. Me and my boyfriend Rupe just moved in over the hill.” She gestured behind her in the opposite direction from the one Harry and Louis had come from. After checking that Harry was still safely holding Alice, she dropped neatly to the ground, retrieved her cigarette, and produced a lighter from the pocket of her shorts. “We were in London before, but we decided to move. There was loads of traffic and pollution there. The air wasn’t good for Alice.” Ironically, bearing in mind that second before she’d been expressing concerns over the quality of air her baby was breathing, she lit up with the ease of a confident and experienced smoker, inhaled deeply, and then blew an enormous white cloud of smoke out through her nostrils, directly towards Harry and Alice. He quickly stepped back and brought Alice out of range.

“We got here yesterday,” Harry said quickly, noticing that Louis’ nostrils were flaring with annoyance. Louis wasn’t impressed by smoking, and Harry could tell that Micheline’s hypocrisy had annoyed him. He wasn’t exactly charmed by it himself. “We came from Doncaster.”

“Ah,” replied Micheline delicately, her tone flooded with distaste.

Instantly, Harry felt Louis bristle beside him, stiffening, and he nudged Louis carefully to remind him not to lose it with the girl. He might have squeezed his fiance’s elbow if he hadn’t been too busy holding Alice out of range of her mother’s death stick (as he and Louis had less than affectionately named them on more than one occasion).

“Ah,” Harry repeated cheerfully.

“Well, it’s a very…characteristic area,” she attempted.

“Yes.”

“Did you have friends there?”

“Yes, good ones.”

The conversation had swiftly turned awkward, and charasmatic Louis, Harry’s usual rescuer in situations such as this, had fallen into a determinedly stony silence and was struggling to keep a disapproving frown off his face.

“Thank you for this, by the way,” said Micheline, waving her cigarette expressively to indicate her child, “it’s not every day a stranger turns up and manages to make your screaming brat shut up just by holding her.” She grinned to show she was joking, but neither of the boys thought much of her sense of humour.

“He’s got the magic touch,” Louis said, and he and Harry exchanged amused looks.

A carefully plucked eyebrow was raised. “Oh yeah?” smirked Micheline, “I bet.” She carelessly flicked a little ash onto the ground. “So, you guys are new here. You don’t know anyone either. Rupe’s got a couple of mates; he met a few guys down at the bar, but no one’s approached me yet. Dunno if it’s the hair or the screaming kid that puts them off.” She rolled her boldly outlined eyes. “Anyway. Maybe you could come for a drink later. Or something.” Biting her lip, she threw another suggestive look at Harry.

“We’ve got a lot of unpacking to do,” Louis said instantly, “sorry.” His accompanying smile was a little too fast and not remorseful enough; he didn’t look or sound sorry at all.

Determined not to be beaten, Micheline offered, “Tomorrow, then. Tomorrow afternoon. Come on, you’ve got the magic touch, remember?” She fluttered her eyelashes at Harry. “Alice likes you.”

He’d almost forgotten the insubstantial little girl in his arms now that she’d stopped making such a formidable noise. “Yeah, maybe.”

“Definitely. I know my girl.” Throwing down her cigarette, the girl stamped on it several times, trampling it into the grass, then smartly whisked Alice out of Harry’s hands and began promptly stuffing her into the pram. “Tomorrow at two. Straight down the hill. It’s the first house you come to; you can’t miss it.” Turning round, she started rushing down the hill at top speed, pushing the pushchair ahead of her, and Louis and Harry heard Alice start bawling again as the pram, and Micheline’s enormous blue hair, vanished swiftly out of sight.

Louis glared after her, and muttered something intelligible under his breath. Most of it escaped Harry’s comprehension, but he could hardly fail to hear the “bitch” that was tacked darkly on to the end.

“Louis! You can’t say that! We spoke to her for all of five minutes; you can’t just decide that she’s a bitch!”

“I can. Besides, in those five minutes, she dumped her baby on you, smoked like a chimney and demanded that we come and visit her tomorrow without even asking if we had other plans!”

Harry hid his smile behind his hand. “You just didn’t like her because she turned her nose up at Doncaster.”

“Actually, I didn’t like her because she was coming on to you even though I made it pretty clear that you were taken,” corrected Louis, “but that too.”

Shaking his head fondly, Harry placed a hand on Louis’ back and comfortingly rubbed his spine. “Ah, Boo. No one should ever come between you and Doncaster.”

“Shh. Don’t call me Boo.” But Louis couldn’t help but grin.

Slinging an arm over his shoulder, Harry whispered “You like it really, you know. You just pretend not to.”

“I don’t,” grumbled Louis.

“Bless. Whatever you say, Boo. I mean…Louis.” Harry bit his lip to hold back a little smile. “Come on then, let’s go and get some of this unpacking done – and see if we can call a furniture delivery company and get ourselves a bed! One thing’s for sure; I’m not sleeping on that floor again!”

“Mmm, fair point, it wasn’t the best night’s sleep I’ve ever had either, although that could be because your elbows are so pointy and you tend to wriggle and mutter a lot when you’re uncomfortable. Or horny.” Louis dug him playfully in the ribs and then dodged when Harry went to jokingly smack him on the back of the head.

Harry couldn’t help but grin. “Oh, come on, you – let’s go home and start sorting things out, or you’ll be in severe danger of having no bed to sleep in for the second night running.”

“It’s okay; I’ll just sleep on you again,” teased Louis, ruffling Harry’s hair for him. “Believe it or not, you make a very nice pillow.”

 


	3. Chapter 3

Micheline hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said her house was unmissable; when Harry and Louis reached the other side of the hill the next day, they were confronted with a street of uniform houses; brown, orange, and cream, and all identical. Apart from the very first house on the road, which appeared to have been recently painted bright blue, a similar colour to Micheline’s hair. There was a bright red convertible lounging in the driveway and the house had blinds instead of curtains like every other house on the road. The overgrown, tangled garden was littered with play equipment that Alice wouldn’t be able to use for several years yet, and the washing line was groaning with the weight of what seemed to be a whole wardrobe full of clothes hanging off it. But by far the most conclusive evidence that this was the right house was that there was an open window on the top floor, and they could clearly hear the distinctive scream of baby Alice as she howled for all she was worth.

There was nobody around other than the two of them, hovering uncertainly near the garden gate, but Harry got the feeling that all of the other houses on the street were staring disapprovingly at Micheline’s, for having the sheer audacity to be so bright compared to the subdued colours of everything else.

Shrugging, Louis stepped forwards and opened the gate, and they wandered up the path to the front door. Confidently, Louis knocked, and then stepped back a little and put his hand back on Harry’s hip, either to reassure himself that Harry was still there or to reestablish his new posessive role.

The door opened and the boys found themselves face to face with a man about a head shorter than Louis, wearing paint-flecked jeans and a baggy grey shirt, with stubble on his chin and ginger hair that curled at the tips. His feet were bare and his eyes were bleary with sleep, like he’d only just woken up, and in his arms he held Alice, although like Micheline he barely seemed to have hold of her, and Alice was not at all impressed by the arrangement, kicking her little legs to show her displeasure.

“Hi,” Harry said, “erm, we met Micheline yesterday? She told us to come over? I’m Harry, by the way.” He smiled uncomfortably, pretending he didn’t want to grab Alice and make sure at least s _omeone_ had a decent grip on her.

The man, who was presumably Rupe, turned around without acknowledging their introduction and yelled up the stairs, “Oi, Mish! Those two guys are here, the ones you were on about yesterday.”

Micheline yelled back, “Give Alice to them!”

Rupe blinked. “What?” he shouted.

“Give them Alice! It’s the only way to shut her up!”

Shrugging, Rupe turned back to them, and looked down at his baby. Then, he shoved her at them – only even as Harry lifted his hands to recieve the child, Rupe thrust her into Louis’ arms, then turned and headed back into the kitchen, yawning and rumpling his hair as he went. Stunned, Louis looked down at the girl and then pulled a face at Harry, as if to say ‘what can you do’? Harry just stared for a while, astonished. He had expected to feel the slight weight of baby Alice in his arms, and to see her wide eyes staring excitedly up at him – instead, Louis had that, and Harry wasn’t sure how to react. Perhaps with jealousy? But he couldn’t be jealous, because Louis smiled down at the little girl and touched her cheek with one slim finger, and Alice immediately stopped wailing, her voice stuttering into silence, grabbed Louis’ finger and held on tightly.

Instantly, Louis’ whole face lit up and softened amazingly as he looked down at the little girl, and Harry saw an expression flit across his face that he’d never seen before: it was surprise, happiness and delight all at the same time, combined with the kind of paternal look that made Harry’s insides melt. He started shaking a little, incomprehensibly. Harry hadn’t realized Louis could look more beautiful than he already did – sometimes, Harry would just stop and stare at Louis, while he was eating or sleeping or lying lazily on the floor daydreaming, or when they were sat together doing not very much, and he was always caught by surprise at how honestly gorgeous Louis was. He could be pulling the ugliest face ever or sitting in the most unflattering position known to man, and Harry would still have to catch his breath and steady himself. This was one of those moments, except he’d never felt it so fiercely before.

It was as if a light-bulb had been switched on behind Louis’ eyes; the kind of look he gave the baby was similar to the one he would give Harry sometimes, except it was a different kind of love in his expression. His mouth moved into a soft smile as he tugged his finger lightly, watching the baby hold on. To Harry, it felt like Louis had reached out and snatched all the air out of his lungs; there was a physical pain in his chest, wrenching at his ribcage.

Something fluttered deep inside Harry’s stomach, because he’d never seen Louis hold a baby before and just looking at the way Louis stared at Alice made him wonder why Louis had never had kids, because he clearly adored them and was born to be a parent.

Then, he remembered: Louis couldn’t have kids because he was in love with Harry, and men couldn’t give birth. Which meant that neither of them could produce the child Louis wanted. Harry was surprised; Louis had never mentioned before how fond he was of kids. Perhaps he had forseen this outcome; maybe he had known that Harry would blame himself and feel awful for preventing Louis from having a baby like he wanted. Louis wouldn’t have wanted Harry condemning himself for something which, in all fairness, couldn’t be helped. Nature had conspired against them in that respect; he couldn’t have a baby, and neither could Louis. But he was completely to blame! He had doomed Louis the instant they’d fallen in love; that was something he’d always known – somehow he’d duped that beautiful man into falling for him; roped him into loving a monster, an insane murderer, who people feared and hated in equal measure, no matter how determined he was to put things right. People hated Louis as well, just because he was one of the few people who saw Harry for what he was now, rather than what he had been. Louis had been captured and tortured and attacked because of his love for Harry – and now, Harry would prevent his happiness once again because he couldn’t give him a child.

It was a frightening onslaught of realizations, an epiphany, almost, and Harry was shocked to realize that he’d never thought of it before. His stomach clenched and he felt a bit sick as he watched Louis cooing over the baby in his arms. Even though he knew it was impossible, he wanted to remove Alice from Louis’ embrace, shove her back into her mother’s loose grip and then take Louis by the hand and drag him home – and then he wanted to take Louis to bed and love him until one of them got pregnant, and he didn’t even care who. He would carry a baby if he could – without hesitation.

Tears sprang to Harry’s eyes and he glared despairingly down at his flat chest, suddenly wishing that his shirt would strain over the breasts that he didn’t have. He glared at his thin hips, long legs and huge hands and feet, longing for his angles to become curves. Harry had never wanted to be a woman, but all of a sudden, he would have welcomed the change, if it meant that he and Louis could conceive.

Never before had he doubted their relationship. It was perfect – but how could it be? All true relationships involved children. Theirs never could.

Louis looked up at him with concern. “Harry? You okay?” He carefully placed a hand on Harry’s arm, squeezing him to bring Harry out of his dazed trance.

Harry shook himself and plastered on a smile – and after a few seconds, it became genuine. What had he been thinking? Had he really doubted their relationship for a second? Louis deserved better; that was something he had always taken into account, but never before had the knowledge felt so crippling. Perhaps it was because of the rush of emotions he’d felt seeing Louis hold a baby. It was beyond adorable, and he’d had a weird moment! Doubts; they happened to everyone. Emotions were strange things and Harry had never been the best at controlling his; they took him by surprise. Anger, happiness, jealousy, that odd choked-up feeling when tears came to his eyes like a bitter kind of joy…each threw him off, turning his head upside-down, confusing him. Now that Louis had taken his eyes off the little girl in his arms and was looking at Harry again, rather than gazing at the baby like his whole purpose in life was to be a parent, Harry felt far less like bursting into tears. Seeing Alice and Louis together had unbalanced him temporarily. It was all instinct, that was all; he felt paternal, it was only to be expected.

“Yeah! Sorry, I just went a bit funny. You know what it’s like – new life, and all that. I’d ask you to pinch me, but your hands are busy.” He didn’t dare look down at the baby again in case all of his terror came back; instead he just leaned over her, feeling her little head pressing into his chest, and kissed Louis lightly on the mouth. “I love you. I don’t say that enough.”

Louis’ face turned pink with delight and he treated Harry to the kind of glowing smile that made him weak at the knees. “Aww! What’s brought this on? In fact, never mind –” he reached up to press his finger onto Harry’s mouth before he could speak. “I love you too.”

Between them, Alice whimpered and stirred a little, disliking being sandwiched so closely between them – unsurprisng, seeing as Louis was inching so much closer to Harry every second, itching to have more of their skin touching.

Smiling at him, Harry offered, “Want me to take her?”

“Please,” Louis said sheepishly, and then he transferred the baby between them so that Harry was holding her instead. He stood on his tiptoes and leant around Alice to kiss Harry again. “I don’t know who’s cuter,” he murmured around Harry’s lips, “you, or the baby.”

Harry chuckled against his mouth and deepened the kiss, and he would have wrapped his arms around Louis’ neck if they hadn’t been a little busy holding someone else’s baby. “Clearly it’s me. Look at my dimples.” He grinned, showing them off.

At that moment, Rupe came wandering back into the hallway. Completely unruffled by the sight of two guys stood kissing in the threshold of his home with his baby clasped between them, he seemed more surprised that they hadn’t advanced further into the house, and paused to watch them for a few seconds like they were there for his own personal fascination. After a second or two, Harry started to feel a little uncomfortable with the scrutiny and broke away from Louis – and Rupe gave a tiny, almost unnoticable sigh.

“You can go into the living room if you want,” he offered, then vanished into the kitchen once more, causing both of them to wonder why he had bothered leaving it.

Harry rolled his eyes and carried Alice into the living room, and they both sat on a giant chocolate brown leather sofa while Harry bounced Alice up and down on his knee, smiling as she giggled at him. Louis shook his head fondly and poked her gently in the stomach, and her eyes sparkled like than sun reflecting off a lake, but far brighter. The two of them started tickling the little girl, and her laughter bubbled over and echoed off the walls, causing them both to grin even more than she did at the sight of her happiness. An enormous smile had crept across her face and she was giggling fit to burst. Harry found himself giggling too, and seeing as Alice was sitting up with ease, he removed his hand from her back and grabbed Louis’ hand.

Just then, Micheline came wandering into the room half-dressed; her blue hair was elaborately piled on top of her head with little wisps falling down around her ears, but that was the only part of her which was ready for people to see. She was wearing a deep purple and black lacy corset that snatched in her stomach and pushed up her boobs so they spilled over the top of it, and matching pants. Over her arm, she had thrown a pair of black jeans and a deep blue sweater a similar colour to her hair, and her make-up was perfect. Louis gritted his teeth, because it was pretty blindingly obvious that she had dressed in that order deliberately, and was strutting through her house parading her half-dressed self in front of them – specifically Harry.

“Oh, hey,” she said a little loudly, “guess I didn’t see you there.” She straightened up and tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

Scowling, Louis glanced sideways to judge Harry’s reaction, only to find that Harry was too absorbed with baby Alice to look at the half-naked girl stood in the centre of the room. Micheline pouted as she slowly started dragging her jumper over her head, but Harry never even noticed her – and when she coughed and he went to look up, Louis caught his chin and kissed him quickly before he could look around. Harry smiled, Louis smiled, and Micheline huffed.

Then Rupe walked in, and he huffed as well. “What’s going on here, Mish?”

“It’s fine,” Micheline said a little sourly, “you’ve nothing to worry about; they’re gay.” She was disgusted, not by their sexuality, but more their lack of interest in her.

Shrugging, Rupe dropped into a chair on the other side of the room and studied the boys. “Alice likes you,” he said oddly. “She doesn’t like anyone. I’ve never met anyone else who can shut her up when she gets going.”

“Harry has a way with the ladies,” Louis teased, looking amusedly at the curly-haired boy. “It’s a pity he’s not interested in them, I suppose.”

Micheline made a faintly irritated noise of agreement, and Harry snorted a little before hastily disguising the noise as a kind of throat-clearing cough.

“Come on, then,” said Micheline, sprawling on the floor at Rupe’s feet, “why did you leave Doncaster? If you had friends, why would you leave?” It was a polite enough question, but Louis knew what she was thinking: _if I lived there, I would leave pretty quickly too._ He struggled not to frown.

Harry hesitated, and his eyes flickered towards Louis for help. “Um…”

“Rent went up,” Louis lied promptly. “We couldn’t afford it.”

“So you bought a house all the way out here because you couldn’t afford to rent one back home?” she demanded incredulously.

Louis felt his mouth go dry and he shrugged. “It’s more cost-effective in the long-run.”

“Mm.” She didn’t look convinced, but she let it go. “What do you do for a living, then? What’s your job?”

He deliberated whether he ought to lie for a moment, then remembered: they were supposed to be being themselves here! Sure, maybe admitting that they fled their home because a bunch of gangsters knew where their homes were was less than sensible, but there was no reason for him not to say what his job was. “I’m a psychologist. I work in a prison, talking things over with the guys – helping them to understand why they did the things they did and hopefully helping them to realize that re-offending would be the opposite of what they should be doing with their lives. I like to feel that I make a difference to people.” He smiled a little and squeezed Harry’s leg, and Harry smiled back. Oh, Louis had certainly made a difference – to one person, at least.

Micheline didn’t seem particularly impressed, but people never did; the word ‘psychologist’ tends to inspire mistrust in most, like Louis might find some ridiculous excuse to proclaim them insane and lock them up in some kind of institution. She wrinkled her nose at him and then turned her attentions on Harry, as always. Louis was very tired of how blatantly obvious it was that Micheline fancied his boyfriend.

“And what do _you_ do?”

Harry immediately turned scarlet, because if she had frowned at the mention of psychology it was unlikely that the news that he spend his time discharging community service would be met with approval. But lying had never been one of Harry’s talents – except to Louis, of course, and even then it was mostly avoiding telling the truth rather than lying outright.

“I, uh…I kind of do, like, voluntary work?” he offered hesitantly, and Louis smiled adoringly and patted him on the leg as if to say ‘isn’t he just the cutest little selfless thing?’. Louis, when it came to it, was an excellent liar.

Micheline abruptly backed off the subject, because voluntary work is never interesting, and she didn’t really care about that kind of thing, no matter how sexy she might have found Harry. “Cool.”

“I’m in interior decorating!” Rupe blurted out.

Shooting him a look that said ‘no one cares’, Micheline quickly glanced over to make sure that Harry still had a good grip on her baby, despite the fact that her own grip usually left something to be desired. “I would have thought you’d have a real – uh.” She paused, realizing that what she’d been about to say was actually kind of offensive. “I don’t know. The way you are with Alice, I’d have thought that working with children was more your thing.”

For one moment, Harry very nearly greeted her with a rude snort at that. Work with children? With a criminal record like his? But oh yeah, Micheline didn’t know about that, so he smiled politely and said “I don’t know; I never really thought  about it.”

“Seriously? Let this idiot loose with other people’s children?” Louis said lightly. His left hand was resting on Harry’s shoulders and his fingers had twisted in the roots of the curls right at the nape of his neck, massaging his shoulders apologetically to show that he was just joking. Harry didn’t mind anyway. He knew that Louis would never have said anything like that nastily. “You must be out of your mind. No one would employ _him_ to look after their kids.” With every blunt comment, his fingers tightened in Harry’s hair to show that he was only saying it to put her off the scent – Harry didn’t really need telling, but he liked the reassurance.

“I would,” Micheline said seriously. “I seriously need a childminder. She’s running me ragged; I’m dead on my feet!” She dramatically made eye contact with the two of them. “I’m desperate for someone to take her off my hands for a bit.”

“I’ll do it,” Harry said immediately.

Rupe stared incredulously at him, like he couldn’t understand why anyone would volunteer to look after a child. Micheline gave him a hopeful glance, her face lighting up. Louis just looked at him, expressionless, and Harry didn’t like to think about what that might mean – either Louis had no opinions on the subject, which was rare, or his opinions were ones which could not be expressed in public while next to two people who had no idea that Harry had been in prison.

“Really?” asked Micheline in surprise. She’d been hinting for all she was worth, but apparently she hadn’t expected it to get her anywhere.

Harry shrugged. “Yeah. Why not? I have nothing better to do.”

“You’re a sweetie!” Leaping up, she darted across the room and kissed Harry on the cheek – Louis’ hand moved to posessively grab his arm as if to say ‘mine’ and his expression darkened the moment her red-painted lips grazed Harry’s face. “I’ll pay you, of course,” she promised, as if it had been in question and payment was a special favour that she awarded to her friends.

“When would you like me to start?” he asked.

Her forehead furrowed with thought. “I don’t really know. Tell you what! How about you give me your number and I’ll give you a bell later?” She tossed a packet of tissues across the room and he neatly caught them. “Write your number down on one of those.”

Once they’d made their excuses and left, Louis said to Harry as they began walking back up the hill, “You do know that was just an excuse to get your number, don’t you?”

“Of course I did,” Harry said calmly, “that’s why I wrote yours.”

“Harry!” Louis cried, and he slapped playfully at him. “I don’t want her to be calling  on _me_ to come and pick up her child every day!”

“Yeah, but at least this way you can keep an eye on what kind of messages she’s sending me,” Harry pointed out.

Louis’ eyes widened. “That’s a point! Ooh!”

As if on an invisible signal, in his pocket his phone trembled, quivering like it knew it was being talked about. Louis pulled it out and checked it, and the text he had just recieved made him grimace.

_Wednesday. I’ll be at the cafe in town – don’t be late ;) xoxo ~ M_

“Bloody hell, she’s keen,” Harry remarked as he checked over Louis’ shoulder. He grinned.

“It’s you she’s hitting on, remember?” Louis muttered sourly as he plunged the phone back into his pocket without gracing the text with any kind of response.

“She needn’t bother,” Harry promised, kissing Louis on the side of the neck and nibbling his collarbone reassuringly, “I’m happily taken. Happily…” His hand slid down Louis’ back, onto the base of his spine and then around, so all of a sudden Harry had an arm curled around his boyfriend. “Although,” he remarked, “if she starts hitting on _you_ , it’ll be a completely different story.”

Louis snorted. “She doesn’t know you’ve killed people. To her, you’re about as scary as… _Niall_.”

“I’m scary!”

“Babe, you’re really not.”

“I am!” insisted Harry.

Grinning, Louis rested his head on Harry’s shoulder as they walked back towards the house. “Have it your way, then.”

“So I _am_ scary?” Harry asked hopefully.

“Definitely. She’ll be scared out of her wits. You’re absolutely terrifying, what with your dimples and that charming smile and those flawless collarbones. It’s beyond frightening.”

In response to that teasing comment, Harry turned and without warning leapt on Louis with a growl, knocking him to the floor. All of a sudden they were a jumble of limbs lying on a steep slope and trying not to roll down it, and Harry was layering bites and the odd kiss down Louis’ collarbones, making playful noises that were halfway between a growl and a purr, and pinning Louis to the ground by his wrists.

“Care to rethink that statement?”

“Nope, I’m pretty sure I covered everything. Unless she’d be scared of your massive hair, which, to be fair, is actually a valid point – who knows what you could be hiding in there?” Louis pulled one of his hands free to fondly ruffle Harry’s hair, causing Harry to shake his head and jerk away from the touch with a laugh. “It’s a bird’s nest. You could have the population of a small island living in the roots of your hair and no one would know.”

“I think _you_ would,” Harry teased, “bearing in mind the amount of time you spend running your fingers through it.”

“Mmm…” Louis tilted his head back a little to give Harry better access to the underside of his throat. “True,” he said breathlessly.

The conversation pretty much ended there, because Harry was kind of busy kissing Louis and coaxing little helpless noises out of Louis with a smirk on his face, and Louis was kind of busy _making_ those noises, so they fell into a mutually agreed silence, while Harry pressed Louis against the grass. In his pocket, the phone vibrated again, but no one paid any attention to it. It fell out onto the grass, shivering and lighting up, and Micheline’s number flashed up on the call display, but in a contest between Louis and a girl with blue hair, who was Harry _going_ to prioritize?


	4. Chapter 4

Once again, they were rudely awoken by a ringing phone – Louis’ phone, to be specific, which cheerfully awoke them with an outburst of vibrations and an obnoxiously loud recording of Harry singing in the shower, which Louis had found amusing to record when Harry was unawares. Waking up to the sound of his own voice yelling “I’M SIIIINGING IN THE RAIN, I’M SINGING IN THE RAIN! WHAT A _GLORIOUS_ FEELING, I’M HAPPY AGAIN!” was not the best of things for Harry to experience, and he groaned, pulling Louis’ pillow out from underneath his fiance’s head and chucking it at where the phone lay blaring on the beside cabinet.

“Oi…” Louis moaned, but he didn’t bother retrieving his pillow – just transferred his head to Harry’s chest and used him as a place to rest his head instead. Harry didn’t mind; he started stroking Louis’ back as he attempted to settle back into the sleep he had been rather rudely dragged out of.

After a few more minutes of the phone ringing, it cut off, and left the both of them to snuggle back underneath the covers with weary noises escaping them. Louis wasn’t sure which of them was the more tired, but he was willing to bet a large amount of money that it was him. Still, he forced himself to grope blindly for the phone which seconds ago had been offending both of their ears, and he squinted at first the time display and then the date. A jumble of exhausted swearwords fell out of his mouth and he groaned as he shoved the phone back again and buried his face into Harry’s shoulder. He just wanted to spend the whole day encircled in Harry’s arms, enjoying his warmth and his smell and his _everything._ One of the very few disadvantages to being as massively enthusiastic in the bedroom as they were was that when they entered their room, sleep wasn’t always exactly the first thing on their minds. Which was why Louis just wanted to crawl under the covers with Harry and sleep off all the many hours of fatigue he’d been slowly accumulating.

“What’s wrong?” Harry murmured sleepily, his hands resting neatly in the dip of Louis’ spine, finding a niche there and deciding not to move, because it was a lovely warm spot and he truly didn’t feel much like shifting. He was tired too, after all. It wasn’t like Louis did _all_ of the work; being underneath him involved a fair amount of precision when it came to positioning – if Harry was in the wrong place, everything fell apart in seconds. And with so many beautifully distracting sensations all over him, like Louis’ nails raking passionately down his back and his lips trailing insistent kisses down his neck and shoulders, it really did take a significant amount of effort. Add that to the other things he was rather good at – he smirked to himself and tapped his lips with one finger – he really did do quite a lot, considering. Let it never be said that he didn’t make a valid contribution to their relationship.

“You know what day it is?”

“Nope. Don’t care. Next?”

Normally, Louis would have slapped him playfully – instead, he settled for a feeble poke in the ribs as he settled into a better positon on Harry’s chest. There was a nice comfy spot just below the centre of his collarbone, and Louis found his cheek resting there so that he could tilt his head up and have a truly excellent view of the underside of Harry’s jaw.

“It’s Wednesday, Harry. Aka the end of both of our freedom. I have to go back to work. You’ve got a baby to care for.”

Wrinkling his nose, Harry wriggled and shifted underneath Louis. “No,” he whined, “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want to be responsible. I want to stay here and sleep.” Getting a good grip on Louis’ shoulder, he murmured “stay and sleep with me.”

Louis groaned. “I’d love to, believe me, but I really have to move _now_ , or I’ll never get there. It takes ages to drive to Doncaster from here – I’m going to be super late anyway.”

“Mm…might as well not go now, then,” Harry whispered against Louis’ hair, and he kissed the top of his head absentmindedly.

“I bet you’d love that, wouldn’t you? Me staying here…with you…”

“You’re telling me you _wouldn’t_?”

Snorting, Louis admitted “Point taken. We’d both _love_ to stay here, but we have things we have to do…places to see, people to do things for…”

“I’d sooner do things for you than anyone else.” Harry’s tone was husky and seductive already; he almost wanted to hide his face with embarrassment over how it sounded – but the words had already slipped out, so he punctuated them with a caress; the lightest brush of fingers down Louis’ back that sent a flicker of heat following his touch like sparks skittering down his spine.

“Me too. But these things have to be done. I’m going to see about finding a job around here somewhere and then I can pack things in back there – the moment I’ve sorted everything out and found a place a bit closer to home” – _home,_ he had never used that word to refer to their little place before, but he liked the sound of it – “I’ll get rid of the job at the prison and then I’ll have some more free time on my hands.”

“Sounds good to me…”

Harry’s stomach surprised them both, snarling oddly underneath Louis’ head and Louis raised his head slightly in surprise and gazed bemusedly at Harry. An odd little giggle escaped Harry and he threw back his head against the pillows and laughed at the sheer incredulity of Louis’ expression.

“What can I say? I’m hungry.”

“Well, I do believe we’d better fix that, hadn’t we?” Louis murmured – and with a heroic amount of both effort and willpower, he dragged himself out of bed and hauled Harry into the kitchen to go and fetch breakfast.

By the time twenty minutes or so had passed, they were both fully dressed, Harry in sweatpants and a hoodie because he was only looking after a baby and that didn’t require an extreme amount of presentability, and Louis in jeans and one of their shared jumpers which had been washed a few too many times and was stretched so that it hung down halfway to his knees and the sleeves fell down over his hands, and Louis had already eaten a whole bowl of cornflakes, cleaned his teeth and was dancing around the kitchen with one shoe on and the other in his hand while he tried to clean his teeth with the toothbrush in the opposite hand. Amusedly, Harry watched him hopping agitatedly around the room and struggled not to laugh past the toast he was carefully nibbling.

Louis’ phone buzzed loudly, and he frantically checked it with an expression like he expected it to bring bad news. “Bluey wants you to meet her at the coffee shop in twenty,” he announced, quickly smoothing his hair with one hand as he abandoned his toothbrush, spat frothy toothpaste into the sink and rinsed his mouth out. “You need me to drop you off? I can drive you down if you chuck the rest of that and come with me right now.”

Shaking his head, Harry said “Nah, no need. I can walk. You’re late enough as it is; a massive detour like that will add another half hour to your journey. Thanks, though.” He tapped his bowl thoughtfully with his spoon and listened to the highly entertaining sounds of Louis darting through the house and abandoning things here there and everywhere as he swapped them for items he actually needed.

Once Louis’ shoes were on (laces unfastened and trailing on the ground, but he didn’t bother to amend them) his keys in his hand, phone jammed into his pocket and pile of papers tucked under one arm, he quickly stepped across the room, put his arm around Harry in a quick hug and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

“I’ll see you later. Love you.”

Harry nearly choked on his toast as he struggled to swallow his mouthful quickly enough to have use of his mouth before Louis left. He managed it eventually, and called “I love you too!” just as Louis turned and rushed out of the kitchen, snatching up his jacket as he rushed out.

For the next few minutes, Harry picked glumly at his toast, ripping bits off it and dropping them moodily onto his plate, scattering crumbs everywhere. It took him a good few minutes to realize that his good mood had vanished when Louis did. Scowling, he picked up his plate and dumped it in the sink, and spent a while scrubbing it to distract himself – so long, in fact, that by the time he realized he was attacking a plate, it looked almost cleaner than the day he’d bought it. Wrinkling his nose, Harry abandoned the plate and went to sit on the sofa.

Soon afterwards he realized that it was the first time he’d actually been away from Louis since the whole awful kidnapping incident with Derek. Already he felt uneasy; he was twitching and he felt incredibly uncomfortable as he wriggled around in his seat and nibbled his lower lip anxiously, like it was some way of relieving some of his tension. He didn’t like being separated from Louis at the best of times; it tended to feel like…not like pain, that was too melodramatic, but like an unscratched itch that refused to go away, and tickled relentlessly at him, constantly reminding him that Louis was gone. Like it was screaming in his face: _he isn’t here!_ And he had a strange and irrational compulsion to keep checking over his shoulder and craning his neck to look around, as if Louis was just going to pop up from behind the sofa and yell “JUST KIDDING!” and throw his arms around Harry’s neck and laugh at him, and nuzzle him with the tip of his nose and say “like I’d leave you here all by yourself! Like I’d leave you on your own!”

Of course, Harry knew Louis wasn’t going to do anything of the sort, but he couldn’t help but be wistful. He couldn’t help but wish that it would happen. This desire and all the worried thoughts it summoned up – like his own confusion and anxiety that he was far too focused on Louis and surely it wasn’t healthy to keep feeling this way – made him shifty.

Then, of course, the paranoia in his brain resurfaced from its forgotten niche, and started floating around in his brain, bouncing off the walls of his skull and poking him ten times a second, taunting him with stupid thoughts so that he had to stand up and start pacing up and down the room. It was horribly reminiscent of all those nights in his cell where his nightmares had kept him from calm, causing him to spend night after night prowling around that small room and grinding his teeth in frustration – but now that thought had occured to him, he was beginning to feel claustrophobic as well, and wasn’t that just fantastic?

He made his way back into the kitchen and a cool glass of water found its way into his hands, and his teeth chinked against the glass as he swallowed a mouthful, but the iciness of it couldn’t freeze the horrible ideas flitting around inside his brain, and he poured it all down the sink and then went back to the sofa, where he curled up in a stupid helpless ball and lay rocking gently back and forth. None of Louis’ suggestions of how to calm himself in these situations sprang to mind; in any case he didn’t think any of them worked. Not without Louis to talk him through them. Even then, it hadn’t been the techniques that got his head back on straight again – it had been Louis’ voice, dipping and rising and murmuring reassurances until he worked out the kink in his mind and slipped past it, and his mind figured out how to be normal again.

His mind. How Harry hated it. It was everything that was weak about him, everything that destroyed him and ripped him apart and made him so hard to piece back together again. Its only redeeming feature was that Louis was so unashamedly fascinated with it, but even that was just because it was broken. For some odd reason, Louis derived some kind of ridiculous pleasure from mending it over and over – something he never grew tired of, no matter how many times it shattered. 

It started parrotting old memories back to him, things that he had wanted to forget, that he had hoped to archive in the darkest recesses of his brain but which were coming back to him all too quickly now. _“They’re sending me away, Louis.” …_ _He copied Louis exactly, touching his own hand to his side of the glass in exactly the same place, so that it looked like their fingers were touching. If the glass had been taken away, their hands would have been pressed together… “The first thing I  look for every morning is your face…and then I remember that you’re not there anymore…”_ _The harsh expression on Harry’s face faltered as he dissolved into tears when he realized that wherever he had gone, Louis wouldn’t – or even more worryingly, perhaps_ couldn’t _– come back. Louis Tomlinson was gone._

_Gone._

_Gone._

_Gone!_

Harry swore and jerked upwards into a sitting position, and all of a sudden he looked down and realized that his phone was inexplicably in his hand, being gripped so hard that his fingers had turned white, and his thumb was hovering over the speed-dial button that would have him connected to his lifeline – Louis’ voice – in seconds, and at his plea would have Louis back in his arms within minutes.

_No._ Shaking his head, he carefully placed the phone on the table and leaned back in his seat, fiercely rubbing his eyes with his knuckles and shaking his head as he groaned a handful of swearwords, chanting them over and over as a distraction. What would Louis say if he knew that Harry was on the verge of a breakdown the moment Louis left the house? What would he think?

The phone shuddered (well, it seemed that way to him; really it was vibrating, but he was in a maudlin sort of mood so he interpreted it as a shudder) and Harry flinched – had Louis somehow tuned into his insanity like it was a radio station? Had he heard every little awful snippet of that? Even the thought turned Harry crimson. Was Louis texting to check up on him? The text was indeed from Louis, but when he checked the message, there was no admonishment, no remonstration. Just Louis being – well, Louis. Effortlessly reassuring, and without even intending it.

_Micheline keeps texting me. Can you be down at the coffee shop in fifteen? If not, she’s going to make my phone have a meltdown :/ for the sake of my sanity, please hurry up? ;) Love you xx_

Harry felt his face soften in response to the message, and he quickly tapped out a reply with a far more relaxed expression on his face. Louis had texted – in other words, he was all right. That made Harry feel a lot better.

_On my way. Don’t text when you’re driving! Love you too, you lawbreaking fool ;) .xxxx_

Louis’ reply bounced back almost instantly.

_I’m not. Pulled over so I could turn my phone off. Don’t tell me about lawbreaking ;) you’re a fine one to talk. Now move your flawless backside! ;) stay safe, babe. Love you more .xxxx_

~*~

Harry found his way into the coffee shop purely by catching a glimpse of a head of blue hair through the window – there was little indication that it was any kind of shop at all. He spotted Micheline’s vibrant cerulean hairstyle, piled up on top of her head and restrained with an elastic band into a messy bun, and saw the rings of thick eyeliner around her eyes, and her sour expression – and then he saw a pushchair which she was shooting glares at. Licking his lips, he looked at what Micheline was wearing and discovered that she’d thrown on a threadbare grey tracksuit not dissimilar to the sweatpants he was wearing. Satisfied that she wouldn’t find him underdressed, Harry entered the shop.

A tinkling bell overhead announced his arrival, and Micheline spotted him instantly. Her smile of acknowledgement was more of a grimace, and she waved him over looking like she was in a foul mood. Warily approaching the table she was sat at, Harry analysed her appearance. A thick layer of pale foundation had been caked all over her face like icing, so thickly piled on that it stuck out a few centimetres away from her face like a mask and her lips appeared sunken in comparison, as did her eyes, which were thickly outlined so she looked a little like a racoon. As he had already noticed, her hair had been tied in a messy knot to keep it out of her face but there was little sophistication to the style. Her lipstick was smudged. Despite the thick coat of white pancake make-up so that it looked like it had snowed on her face, she had not been able to successfully disguise the huge bags underneath her eyes.

Harry sat opposite her and as he dropped into the chair with an apologetic smile, she took hold of the mug in front of her and brought it to her lips. After taking a huge gulp, she slammed it down so fiercely onto the table that coffee slopped all over the surface, and Harry had to push his chair back from the table to avoid getting splashed. Micheline made no effort to apologise; her scowl deepened and the layer of white on her forehead cracked a little. He looked down at the mug in order to avoid her scorching gaze and found himself fixated on the ghostly red imprint of her lipsticked mouth on the edge of the cup.

“Are you okay?” he asked, and then winced a little in preparation for an angry answer.

Surprisingly, he didn’t get one, although Micheline looked like she’d taken a bite out of a lemon; her forehead was puckered and her lips pursed. “Fine,” she answered curtly, “just tired. She’s been giving me hell.” She jerked her head at Alice, who, amazingly, was silent.

“She seems pretty quiet right now.”

“Yeah, well, she would be _now_ ,” Micheline said irritably, “she nodded off on the way, thank God. I can’t cope. I’m dead on my feet! I don’t get a second’s peace; Rupe’s absolutely useless, my parents don’t want to know, I just –” She pinched the bridge of her nose, closed her eyes and started muttering, counting down from ten. It was an anger management technique, Harry knew; one that he’d always found particularly useless. _Numbers._ How did they help? Not at all, for him, was the answer, but to each their own. Reaching zero, she removed her fingers from her nose, but they were coated in foundation and there were visible imprints on her face from where her fingers had been. Harry tactfully decided not to point it out. He thought she might hit him if he did.

“You want me to take her?” offered Harry.

“Yes,” Micheline said immediately, without the faintest trace of embarrassment.

Struggling not to laugh, Harry placed a hand on the handle of the pram and got up out of his seat with ease. Alice lay sleeping peacefully, the blankets clumsily tucked around her and one tiny hand curled around the edge of the pushchair. Harry smiled softly at her and neatly smoothed the blankets over her small body, and then he started deftly manoeuvring the pram around the seats. As he reached the door with it carefully under control, he turned back to glance at Micheline. He had been expecting her to be watching him leave, or at least looking a little anxious to be leaving her baby with a virtual stranger, but in actual fact she was staring into her mug like the secrets of the universe were swirling around with the dregs of her coffee. Shrugging, Harry left the shop, and he started pushing Alice down the road towards the hill, whistling cheerfully as he went.

Just for today, Harry had a baby.

~*~

“You remember Louis, don’t you, Alice? You liked Louis. You stopped crying when he picked you up, do you remember that? I think you and Louis would get along very well. He likes kids. I never knew until he held you and I saw that look in his eyes. He never told me how he feels, but I can tell. It’s just something in the eyes, you know?”

Some people might have felt ridiculous, talking to a baby, but not Harry. He was fairly certain that Micheline wouldn’t exactly bother to talk to Alice very much, and he knew _he_ wouldn’t like being talked over if he was her. Cradling the baby in his arms so that she was resting against his chest, he continued happily talking to her. Her chair was in his hallway where he’d left it; it was heavy and awkward to steer around, and he’d forsaken it in exchange for his arms, which would be more comfortable for the baby and far easier for him – and he’d carried Alice down to the beach and was stood with her, the sea lapping at his toes, staring out to sea and rocking her carefully while he continued with his one-sided conversation.

“Louis is the love of my life. I love him _so_ much Alice, and I don’t get the chance to explain it to anyone very much. I did bad things, you see. You don’t need to know what. Not because I think you’re too young, or because I don’t trust you, but because it wasn’t very nice and I don’t really like talking about it. But Louis knew from the moment we set eyes on each other that I was a bad person, and he didn’t care. He loves me anyway. Everything he’s done for me…I can’t even begin to explain.”

Alice gurgled happily and Harry rubbed a few little circles on her small back in a comforting way, bouncing her up and down as he allowed her to rest on his hip.

“He helped me even when I was an a – um. An idiot,” Harry amended himself with a small smile. “He did everything for me. I messed up time and time again; I made bigger and bigger mistakes, and he stuck by me through all of it. He’s absolutely amazing. I just wish I could do more for him.”

The sea crawled up the beach and danced lazily back again, the sunlight glistening off it from every angle, dazzling them both. Wind fluttered in Harry and Alice’s curls and they ruffled together, chocolate and dark chocolate mingling together, and the child made a couple of soft, happy noises in Harry’s ear as she pulled on the fabric of his shirt. Most of her body was restrained in a tight red sleep-suit, but her little hands were free, and she cheerfully gripped his collar in one hand and burbled as she grasped it.

“He’s beautiful, too. I guess you’re still too young for that part. It’s a good job, I suppose, otherwise I’d be having a bit of competition, wouldn’t I? You’d be trying to steal him off me.” Harry chuckled. “Not that I’d blame you. He’s gorgeous and he’s funny and sweet, and he’s _mine._ I’m sure you’ll find someone someday who’s perfect for you. But that man is mine. And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

His hair seemed to fascinate the child; she seized a tuft of it and allowed it to run through her fingers, eyes wide. It wasn’t the first time he’d inspired that reaction in someone; lots of people seemed to enjoy touching his hair. Louis especially. Alice’s childlike hands were so careful as they stroked his curls that Harry didn’t attempt to stop her; he just enjoyed the sensation. Having his hair touched was something Harry enjoyed, just as long as it was done right. Baby Alice seemed to have the knack.

“He’s mine,” Harry said happily. “He’s beautiful and he’s brilliant and he’s mine, and I love him so much.”

“I love you too.”

Harry jumped, but Louis’ arms were around his waist within seconds as he hugged Harry from behind and pulled Harry back against him. In Harry’s arms, Alice cooed happily and reached up to touch Louis’ face, and he giggled under her careful little fingers as they brushed the underside of his jaw.

“Hey! That tickles!”

“Hands off my man,” Harry teased, tickling Alice under her chin so that she shrieked in delight and kicked her little legs. “That’s _my_ special spot. Out of bounds, honey, sorry.”

“Awww, bless.” Louis rested his chin on Harry’s shoulder and looked out at the sea with him. “How long have you two been out here? Must have been quite a while; do you know what time it is?”

Shrugging, Harry said “It was about half eleven, maybe twenty to twelve when we first headed down. Why, what time is it now?”

“Coming up for six. Should you not have given her back yet?”

“You haven’t gotten any abusive ‘where on earth is my daughter’ texts, have you?”

“Not yet. Did you really stand on the beach with her all day?”

“Stand, sit…we had a bit of a chat, didn’t we, Alice? Just sort of hung out, looked at the sea and the birds and that kind of thing…it was pretty fun. I guess we just lost track of time, isn’t that right?” He grinned fondly at the baby.

“Come on, you. We’d better start heading back, or before you know it we’ll end up keeping her. Mind if I hold her?”

“Be my guest.”

So Louis accepted Alice and balanced her easily on his hip, one arm supportively around her back while she clung to him, and he held Harry’s hand – and Harry smiled to himself as they started heading back up the steep slope towards home, even though he knew there would be another walk down to Micheline’s house to give Alice back again, and he was tired, despite not having done much.

The hill was steep, and it took a lot of puffing and panting, especially with Alice in tow. She wasn’t particularly heavy, but the tiny bit of extra weight shifted the balance enough for Louis to struggle. Harry had to haul him up a little bit, and they nearly both fell over on the very last little bit of ascent. Stumbling, Louis grabbed Harry and for once, Harry stopped Louis from falling rather than the other way around.

Harry stared into Louis’ eyes and they both laughed shakily, before Harry’s amusement swiftly vanished and he scrutinized Louis’ face, staring right into his deep, thoughtful, caring dark blue eyes with an almost frightening amount of love in his expression. The intensity of it scared Harry a little.

“Louis?”

“Yeah?”

“I meant what I said. To Alice. I don’t know how much of it you heard, but…I love you so much. I just wanted you to know.”

“Oh, Harry. I knew that already.” Louis shook his head fondly. “I love you too.”


	5. Chapter 5

Ten minutes into a conversation with a burly man named Steve, who was going bald, had a friendly but decidedly squashed-looking face, and a tattoo of his wife and children’s name on his wrist, Louis realized that he was completely and totally mindnumbingly _bored._

It wasn’t the first time he’d figured this out that day. In fact, four sessions in, and he was pretty sure the idea had occurred to him at least once in every single one. It just hadn’t happened quite so quickly before. Usually it had been within the last few minutes that he’d gotten bored and his mind had started wandering towards Harry and home and all the things he could have been doing rather than listening to sweaty men whine endlessly about their problems while he twiddled his thumbs and tried to make notes about them. But only halfway through, and already he hated Steve and Steve’s voice and Steve’s face and Steve’s life and everything about Steve and if Steve toppled backwards off the chair and cracked his head open and his blood spilled all over the floor in a disgusting red mess, Louis wouldn’t care in the slightest, he would probably break open a bottle of champagne and toast the man’s demise as he knocked it back.

He couldn’t be bothered with any of it any more. In a friendlier time, he might have gone looking for Harry and pulled him into the toilets or the office or down one of the more deserted corridors or cornered him in the cafeteria and they might have had the odd sneaky exchange in the dark which was a certain alleviant of boredom. If Harry was a reasonable distance away from the prison rather than god knows how many miles, Louis might have clocked off early or claimed the lunch break that he usually skipped or spent holed up in solitary confinement  in his office because he had no one to spend it with, and he might have taken Harry to the coffee shop around the corner and had coffee with him. Or pulled Harry into the porsche and stolen a couple of cheeky snogs on the back seat. As it was, the best he was likely to get would be a phone call.

Holding up his hand, Louis cut off the man’s boring bluster. “Listen, Steve, do you mind if we cut this short just for today? I really don’t think I can do this right now. I’m feeling a bit off, to be honest.”

“Oh. All right.” Steve stood up. “Tomorrow, then, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis agreed, rubbing his eyes wearily. “Yeah.”

He watched the man leave with a swirling whirlpool of relief wrapping itself comfortingly around him like an old blanket. Once he was blissfully alone once again, with no whining voice to grate on his ears, he slowly crossed the room and curled up in the old green chair that he’d never been able to bring himself to throw away. It held too many memories. He held Harry in his arms now every night, but he still felt an irrepresible amount of fondness for the chair that had been a cradle to the man he loved when his arms hadn’t been allowed to hold him yet. Before Louis had been trusted to keep Harry safe, the chair had done it for him. Sentiment towards a chair was more than a little silly, but Louis didn’t care much about that. He gave it a little pat and a stroke as he sat down in it, resisting the urge to bury his nose into the fabric. Harry’s smell was long since gone, chased away by the harsh scents of clinical soap and aftershave and _bodies_ , the musk of a hundred other men who meant nothing to him.

His phone was in his hand and he had pressed the speed dial automatically without even considering what he was doing. And then Harry was answering on the first ring, and _God_ his voice was so slow and husky and low and it sent a shiver of appreciation down Louis’ spine when he thought about the different pitches that voice could reach; deep or high or a thousand different octaves in between, and his fingers flexed around the phone and gripped it tightly as Harry said “Hello” and he replied “I love you so much, Harry” without even thinking about the words that he was tripping over as  they fell out of his mouth.

“Wow,” Harry said, and he laughed. “Unexpected. I love you too. What’s brought this on?” His voice turned teasingly suspicious. “Did you break something? Who do I owe money to?” Louis could almost _hear_ his grin.

Louis caressed the back of the chair like it was one of Harry’s silky cheeks – ignoring, of course, the fact that it felt like lumpy cordouroy and smelt like dampness and sweat. “Just…I kept thinking.”

“I’m sure that isn’t good for you. Don’t hurt yourself.” Harry laughed adorably at his own joke.

A smile stretched stupidly across Louis’ face with an intensity that hurt the muscles in his face. “Shut up!” he said delightedly. “I was thinking about everything we’ve done…together, and apart. All we’ve been through…everything you’ve done for me. And I love you so much. I just wanted to put that out there.”

“Lou?” Harry’s voice sounded a little odd.

“Mm?”

“Are you stroking that awful old chair again?”

Louis snatched his hand away from the grungy material like it was a scorpion that had stung him. “Wha – no!” Pause. “How the hell could you possibly know that?”

Harry burst ought laughing. “Intuition. Also, you used to do that a lot when I wasn’t around – or when you _thought_ I wasn’t around, should I say – and it was pretty cute. You did a face.”

“A face?”

“I can’t describe it. A kind of concentrating face. It was really cute, actually. But you would stand there and kind of pet the chair and look at it like you were infatuated with it, and it was hilarious. Getting all sentimental, are we?” teased Harry.

“Just a bit,” Louis admitted reluctantly. “Is it that obvious?”

“Only because I know you. I know your voice better than I know _mine._ I know what you’re thinking about, when you’re lying, when you’re happy or sad or creepily stroking an old chair while you reminisce about the past – I also know that you’re _supposed_ to be listening to some boring people tell you about their boring problems right now, so what the hell are you doing being adorable over the phone to me?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “Couldn’t concentrate. This lot bore me to tears – every single one of them. I never realized before how much this job was getting me down. I want to be with you. Not here. Everyone’s left; it’s so _boring._ I just kept thinking about how if you were still with me, in Doncaster, we could be together right now.” He sighed wistfully.

“Oooh. You really _are_ in a depressing mood today.”

Louis made a grumpy noise of acknowledgment and Harry struggled not to laugh at him. He sounded a bit breathless, to Louis’ surprise, and Louis couldn’t help but be bewildered. His forehead creased in confusion.

“Are you all right?”

“Yep. Just heading up the old hill to go and pick up Alice.”

“Oh.”

“Jealous?”

“Yes,” Louis said immediately, and Harry laughed again. Louis could imagine the angle as he threw his head back, his eyes crinkling, a huge grin dancing across his face and making him look _so_ beautiful. His stomach ached. How he wished he could see it for real, right in front of him.

“Of me, or of her?”

“Her, of course! She gets to spend the whole day with you.” Louis frowned, and realized that although he’d been teasing initially, he actually _was_ jealous of the baby that Harry would be cuddling, whispering to, playing silly games with –

“Oh, Lou. Just remember who gets me _every single night,_ ” Harry breathed, and Louis could have sworn he could feel Harry’s breath tickling his cheek through the phone.

The husky undertone to Harry’s voice had Louis turning white with longing, and safe in the knowledge that no one could see him, he made a grab for the desk and his knuckles turned white too as desire pulsed through him right to the sensitive areas between his legs. Something stirred inside his boxers and then Louis was rock hard and there appeared to be very little he could do about it. He closed his eyes and groaned quietly.

“Thanks for that. Something else for me to take care of. Care to tell me how I’m going to sort myself out without becoming the laughing stock of the prison between here and the bathroom?” He attempted to adjust his trousers and then regretted it; the brush of material felt far too good.

“Whoops. Guess I didn’t really think about that.”

“No,” Louis said, “well you wouldn’t, would you?” But he shook his head and smiled slightly anyway. “Well, this isn’t going to sort itself any time soon. I suppose I’ll have to do it. Care to talk me through it?” When had his voice turned so suggestive? Oh well.

Harry sounded a little embarrassed. “Um…actually, Lou, I’m right on Micheline’s doorstep.”

Louis tried valiantly not to sound disappointed as he said “Oh.”

“Normally I’d love to; you know I would, but nine times out of ten things like that would end up giving _me_ a pants problem to contend with, and I can’t really be messing around getting it all out of my system when I’m meant to be looking after a baby.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m really sorry, Lou, but –”

“It’s okay! It doesn’t matter, it’s –”

Harry swiftly cut him off. “Later, yeah? Tonight?”

Doing his utmost not to sigh, Louis agreed, “Later.” He would be holding Harry to that.

“I lo –”

It was unjustified, but Louis was in a foul mood. He hung up, disconnecting the call before Harry’s “I love you” could be transmitted across the country and reach him, as if the endearment would make him even more uncomfortable than he was already.

~*~

Taken aback, Harry blinked injuredly at the phone, taking it away from his ear and staring at it like it had done him a horrible injustice, like it had disconnected the call and not Louis. He checked hopefully, but no; his phone had not betrayed him; his ear hadn’t slipped. Louis had hung up on him, not the other way around. All Harry had wanted to say was “I love you.” Now it looked like Louis was mad at him.

He could try calling back, but there was little point in that. Louis would just ignore him – out of shame for his hot-tempered actions, if nothing else. Besides, he was probably taking care of his little problem by now, and interrupting him wouldn’t do wonders for his mood. Sighing regretfully at the phone, Harry ended the call from his end and thrust the phone into his pocket, and then he knocked on Micheline’s front door.

When she opened the door and shuffled out to greet him, Harry instinctively took a step backwards. She was a mess. He didn’t so much mind the absence of make-up; without it her face looked softer, younger and prettier, although she looked strange without the garish eyeshadow and enormous false eyelashes – but her hair was limp, unwashed and plastered against her head, she had a couple of huge spots on her chin, she was wearing a threadbare lavender dressing gown and fluffy slippers, and in one hand she held some kind of specially rolled cigarette with the contents spilling out onto the carpet, and thick, unpleasant black smoke was coiling around her head.

“Morning,” Harry said nervously.

She grunted non-commitally and took a heavy drag on the cigarette, not seeming to notice that it was dropping ash and god knows what else all over her dirty slippers. Knocking a couple of limp strands of hair out of her eyes, she sniffed at him. “Is it?”

He attempted a laugh, then gathered from her narrowed eyes that she hadn’t been joking. Hastily backtracking, Harry offered “Want me to take…” Her arms were empty, and he paused worriedly. “Um…where’s Alice?”

Micheline shrugged. “I think Rupe took her out the back.”

“No I didn’t.” Rupe appeared from behind her, nodded at Harry, and then padded barefoot into the kitchen. He called through the open door “I haven’t got her up yet; she’s still in bed. Most sensible people _are_ at this time.”

It was almost lunchtime, but Harry wisely didn’t point that out. “Do you want me to go up and sort her out?”

They both replied by grunting, so Harry took that as a yes and edged past Micheline to head upstairs and go and find the baby. The last thing he saw as he vanished around the corner and onto the landing was Rupet snatching Micheline’s roll up and taking a long puff, then childishly exhaling the smoke into her face.

Alice was sat bolt upright in her cot, looking accusingly at the doorway. When Harry entered the room, her stubborn little face lit up in an enormous smile and she reached out her arms, hands extending through the bars towards him. He shook his head fondly as he got down on his knees beside her and carefully held one of her little fists; it was lost in his comparatively enormous hand. Her little red sleepsuit had a peeling picture of a whale on it and looked a little bit small on her, but Harry pretended he hadn’t noticed.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he greeted her. “Someone’s up and ready to face the day! Show me that beautiful smile, then!”

Her little grin widened massively, cheeks turning rosy pink, and she waved happily at him. Harry could see the first of her little white teeth poking through her gums, and he was surprised that she wasn’t grizzling or complaining in any way. He got to his feet, reached down and carefully placed his hands on either side of her waist, and then he had lifted her easily out of the cot and was cradling her carefully against his chest. Alice burrowed her face delightedly into his neck, and not for the first time Harry was pleased that she wasn’t one of those _wet_ babies with bodily fluids streaming from every direction. She didn’t drool. Her cute little snub nose didn’t run. All things considered, Alice was a very _tidy_ baby.

Unfortunately, even the tidiest of babies couldn’t be expected to be potty trained at only ten months, and Alice was most _definitely_ not potty trained. Harry pretended to take a big sniff, and then announced “Someone needs their nappy changing! How long have you been sitting there smelling like _that_ , Mrs?” He tutted fondly, and then looked around for something to help him clean her up. “Hmm. Changing unit? Nappies? Baby wipes? There have to be some around here somewhere. Come on, Al, help me out here!” She gurgled delightedly and grabbed a fistful of curls. Harry rolled his eyes. “Helpful. You women have a one track mind. As I’ve explained before, I’m happily taken, and Louis wouldn’t be too happy if he caught you messing with my hair. He sees it as exclusively his property. He gets so jealous, bless him; it’s adorable. You’ve got all this to come. But, young lady –” He lifted her up into the air so that her little legs dangled, and she kicked and squealed excitedly “ – no men are going to want you if you’re covered in poo, are they? It’s very unattractive. Let’s get you sorted out.”

Micheline’s organizational skills left a lot to be desired; her cleaning regime had one serious flaw – that flaw being that she apparently didn’t have one. Still, Harry found the appropriate supplies, cleaned up the worst of it (for such a small child, Alice didn’t half know how to make a mess) and stuffed her into a clean sleepsuit, firmly resolving to bring some of his own supplies next time so he wouldn’t feel quite so lost.

As he said goodbye to Micheline and quickly steered the pushchair out of the house, Micheline and Rupe were still bickering over their cigarette and were too busy fighting over it to even notice that Harry had left. A herd of elephants could have rushed in and he doubted that they would have noticed.

“You, my dear,” he told Alice conspiratively, “have a very silly mummy and daddy. But don’t tell them I said that.”

Alice fixed him with her solemn brown-eyed stare, as if she understood, and she watched his face as he pushed her down the road, almost unblinkingly, as if she was staring right inside him, looking into his soul and evaluating his innermost thoughts.

“Shhh,” he said softly. “It’ll be our little secret.”

It was most likely his imagination, but Harry could have sworn that her little head fell forwards in a nod.


	6. Chapter 6

He awoke to find that his hand was being held, his head resting on someone’s lap, and it was disorientating to say the least. Still, it felt pretty nice, so he felt no inclination to complain. In fact, just as he was considering whether or not to at least open his eyes to see who was sat so closely to him, a hand dropped into his hair and began stroking it, and he didn’t really care _who_ it was, so long as they didn’t move at any point within the forseeable future. He made a small noise of approval and wriggled into a slightly more comfortable position, and that was when the conversation started out of the blue.

“I hung up on you.”

For a while Harry didn’t respond to that. He sensed an apology on the horizon, and some slightly unkind side of him was going to enjoy it. In fact, he was quite possibly going to pretend to be offended and draw it out a little bit, just so that Louis would have an opportunity to be almost unbearably sweet to him. Yeah, Louis was about to start grovelling, and Harry was going to love every single second. This was something that he was so certain of that he didn’t respond – partly because the longer he stayed silent, the more Louis was going to be desperate to make it up to him, and partly because the sooner it started, the sooner it would be over.

Louis paused in his stroking of Harry’s hair, and freed the hand that had been interlocked with Harry’s fingers to trace a couple of anxious circles onto the pale skin of Harry’s wrist. “Harry?”

At first, it took a few second for Harry to deliberate over whether or not he ought to torture Louis for much longer, but the slightly rough edge to Louis’ voice broke his attempt at self-righteousness, and one green eye opened so he could peek at Louis. “Mmm?”

Relieved, Louis smiled softly but tiredly down at him. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Harry tilted his head to look up at Louis. He took in the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the quiet, subdued tone of his voice, and realized that he’d chosen pretty much the worst time to be an arsehole. “You okay?”

“I’m better _now._ I clocked off early. I just wanted to be with you…” He brushed several curls off Harry’s pale forehead with a long, lingering touch. “Did you realize you fell asleep on the sofa? You’re an awful babysitter. I took Alice back to Micheline’s for you but if I’m honest I don’t think she even noticed you’d taken her in the first place. I don’t know what she was smoking, but _I_ wouldn’t want it in _my_ lungs.” Nibbling his lip, he hesitated for a moment, and then: “I’m sorry, please don’t be mad at me, I was just _frustrated_ , you know?”

“I know,” Harry answered softly, and he curled his fingers loosely around Louis’ wrist. “I know. I wasn’t even angry, not really. I understand, Lou. What with all the travelling, and the babysitting, and all that other stuff, we’ve not really had time to be ourselves. It’s my fault; I should be making more of an effort.”

Louis looked at him like he was an idiot. “All we ever do here is be ourselves. This _is_ us, Harry.”

In that moment, Harry lay there considering whether or not it would be worth the effort of getting up so he could kiss that expression off Louis’ face. “But this is only _part_ of what we are, Lou. What we could be. What we _should_ be. There’s so many things I want to do with you; so many opportunities we’re missing…” He sighed wistfully.

“Come on then. Tell me; what _are_ we missing?”

Placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder, Harry used Louis’ body to haul himself into a sitting position on Louis’ knee, and met his inquiring gaze full on. His tongue moved from his mouth to wet his lips and he looked long and hard at Louis for a while, and then he sighed and moved forwards to kiss him. Surprised but willing, Louis moved his lips hesitantly with Harry’s, and Harry sighed impatiently as his fingers wound their way into Louis’ hair, twisting feathery locks around every long digit and tugging lightly.

“What do you _think_ we’re missing?”

It didn’t take Louis long to catch on to the meaning behind Harry’s words – in fact, Harry had a sneaking suspicion that Louis had known what he was talking about all along, and was simply drawing it out to tease them both. All of a sudden Louis was very eager to wriggle more closely against Harry, and Harry was all too eager to let him.

“Do you really think it would be appropriate for me to answer that question?” he breathed, and his cool breath ruffled Harry’s curls and sent goosebumps trailing enticingly up his arms as Louis began tracing careful patterns onto Harry’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he did so.

“Perhaps not,” Harry murmured, “if we had company. But seeing as we’re alone…I hardly think there’s much need for courtesy.” His lips brushed the edge of Louis’ ear as he whispered, and Louis shivered lightly at the feel of it. “Feeling warm, are we?”

“ _Oh_ …” Louis said in a long, drawn-out sigh, and Harry laughed a little bit, his usual chuckle sounding deeper and far more gorgeous than usual.

“Am I to take that as a yes?”

The next kiss Harry gave him was deep and slow, and burned with a heated passion and flames that licked their limbs as they held each other. Harry’s left leg found its way around Louis’ waist and he swung himself more steadily onto Louis’ lap, and then he was pressing Louis against the sofa and catching his lower lip between both of his, and tugging on it experimentally to listen to the noises of pleasure that Louis made into his mouth.

“Take it as a no,” Louis said raggedly, breathing heavily, “and then make me wish it was a yes.”

Harry nuzzled his neck lightly “You want me to make you beg?” he asked mischievously. “I could do it, you know. I could have you screaming for mercy within ten minutes and you know it. Wouldn’t be the first time, either.”

“Then do it – make me _beg_ ,” Louis ordered. “If you really think you can.” He smirked in acknowledgement of the challenge.

They would soon grow to be incredibly grateful for both thick walls and lack of neighbours within close proximity, because the noises which swiftly followed that conversation, namely Louis screaming “PLEASE, HARRY!” at the top of his lungs and Harry delightedly growling “what happened to me _not_ being able to make you beg, Louis? What on earth happened to that?!” would have caused burning ears and shame for both of them had they discovered that anyone had overheard.

Still, by the time the exhausted pair fell back against the bed, completely burned out, Louis hoarse from his pleas and Harry deeply satisfied with himself, they would have been pretty much beyond caring even if anyone _had_ been around to hear the sounds of their passion leaking through the thick stone walls.

~*~

He and Louis agreed at some point during their exhausted, garbled post-love making chat that not spending enough time together was most definitely not okay. That was why, when they were awoken by Louis’ alarm tone the next day, as agreed, Louis ignored it, and phoned in sick with an excuse that he didn’t even attempt to make plausible. That was why, when Harry would usually have been stood alone in the kitchen gloomily spooning mushy cornflakes into his own mouth, he was stood at the grill frying bacon for an enormous cooked breakfast for the two of them, weilding a spatula and wearing a comedic apron that was tied very securely around his waist. That was why, when they finally forced themselves to get dressed and headed down to Micheline’s to pick Alice up, they were together.

They walked hand in hand, the wind ruffling their hair – Harry’s especially – and as they walked, they kept up a conversation about the silliest little things, like how Harry had allowed Alice to spill a solitary spaghetti hoop onto her playsuit and been afraid of Micheline’s reaction and Micheline had been stunned at how _clean_ she was compared to usual…Like when Louis had fallen headfirst into the supply cupboard in the security guards’ office in the prison the other day, and been the victim of a ridiculous amount of ‘coming out of the closet’ jokes ever since… the stupid inconsequential things that no one else cared about; those were the kind of things that Louis and Harry discussed, and it was the little things that counted.

A couple of people waved as they walked by; some people Harry vaguely recognized from his regular jaunts down to the village to fetch Alice, others were complete strangers. One old woman with a perm and a pink shawl stopped and gawped unashamedly at them for a good few minutes as the walked down the road, not seeming to realize that her obvious fascination was being not only noticed, but used as a source of amusement. Louis was worried at first that it might but Harry off, but the curly haired boy just laughed it off, waved cheerfully right in the nosey, gaping woman’s face, and then rested his head on Louis’ shoulder as they continued to saunter down the road with intertwined fingers.

Surprisingly, there were no catcalls; no snide, obnoxious comments whispered from behind hands but intended to be heard, and Louis had expected that there would at least be _one_. Yet here he was, able to walk down the road hand in hand with his boyfriend without anything worse than the stare of a nosey old woman. Back in Doncaster, both he and Harry would probably have been _hospitalized_ by now, and if not, then subjected to a stream of both direct and indirect abuse from every corner they turned.

“This is nice,” Louis commented brightly – and, unusually, without the faintest trace of irony. “For pretty much the first time _ever, nobody_ hates us!”

Harry burst out laughing and leaned in a little closer so that Louis could slip an arm around his waist. He rested against Louis while they walked and couldn’t help but feel the smile on his face grow to a ridiculous size as he agreed with a grin, “Nobody hates us!” Squeezing Louis’ smaller hand inside his own, he added, “and as of yet, I don’t think _we_ hate anybody! This is absolutely excellent.” Beside him, Louis giggled at his response and elbowed him in the ribs.

“Yeah, well, speak for yourself. I’m not so fond of our old chum Bluey, if I’m perfectly honest. Too much flirting, not enough common courtesy. Not enough clothes, either.” He sniffed, but the corners of his mouth had turned upwards in a small smile, betraying him.

“Don’t tell me you’re still irritated about her walking into the room in her underwear to try and impress me?” If he was completely honest with himself, the idea that Louis was _still_ jealous over that one little thing actually made Harry feel pretty good.

Sighing, and seeming a little embarrassed, Louis looked down. “No! Well. Maybe a little bit.”

Laughing, Harry said delightedly “That’s adorable!” He tilted his head on one side and examined Louis with his smile spreading wider and wider the longer he spent looking at him. “Aww. Lou! You seriously got _that_ worked up over that?” Stroking Louis’ cheek, he beamed at him.

“Can we not discuss my jealousy issues, please? We’re meant to be fetching a baby which we’re supposed to be taking care of and you’re not exactly giving me warm and fuzzy feelings towards her mother.” But even Louis couldn’t help but grin.

“Good point, actually – we _are_ meant to be fetching Alice, and we’re going to be late. Let’s run!”

Delightedly tugging on Louis’ hand, Harry set off at a sprint, slowed by Louis who was surprised by the sudden speed, and stumbled a couple of times before he managed to straighten up with a laugh and follow behind Harry with a grin. They struggled up the hill at a slower pace, more of a jog than a run, and every so often they would pause for breath. One one such occasion, Louis squeezed Harry’s hand, took hold of the other one, and they bounced around in a circle, throwing their heads back, laughing giddily. Harry laughed right back at him, the sound of their amusment echoing through the air, and then he staggered and almost fell, and Louis had to catch him by the waist and hold him up.

He dipped in closely and whispered right in Harry’s ear, hair tickling Harry’s neck and lips brushing softly against his earlobe, “Watch your step, love. There’s a bit of a slope; you may or may not have noticed.”

Harry turned his head and captured a kiss from Louis’ mouth, and a gentle sigh escaped as Louis kissed him happily, hands still on Harry’s waist. Buzzing a little from the thrill of kissing Louis so blatantly in such a public place, Harry pressed himself against Louis and deepened the kiss, one of his hands cupping Louis’ face while his fingers were long enough to get a good handful of feathery hair. Almost instinctively, Louis’ hips arched upwards into Harry; detaching their mouths, Harry nuzzled Louis’ neck with the very tip of his nose – a display of affection that he would usually have reserved and kept safely within the private confines of their home – and he got a weird little thrill, a kind of personal triumph, to be able to show so publicly that Louis belonged to him, and he belonged to Louis. Pleased with himself, he nibbled lovingly on one of those excellently sculpted, defined collarbones and enjoyed the sound of the little cry that Louis gave in response, wondering if anyone else had heard it too. Wondering if anyone else had noticed how Louis wanted him, and how much Harry liked being wanted.

“We’re going to be late,” Louis reminded him in a murmur, and Harry smiled to himself at the feel of cool breath on his neck.

“Like she’d notice anyway. That girl spends most of her time sky high – I doubt she knows what _year_ it is. She’s not going to know if we’re a couple of minutes late…or hours…” Harry suggestively traced elaborate swirls down Louis’ back.

“Hmm.” Louis smiled at Harry and stood on his toes a little, their noses touching. “You’re a terrible influence on me. You really oughtn’t to be left in charge of an impressionable baby, you know – you’ll corrupt her.”

“I do tend to have that effect on people.” Harry’s corresponding smile was both gorgeous and amused, and he looked incredibly pleased with himself as he watched Louis’ pupils dilate in response.

“Oh, believe me – I know.” Louis was losing concentration, struggling to flirt back, but if the enormous grin on Harry’s face was anything to go by, he was finding Louis’ complete lack of coherency extremely attractive.

Bringing his lips very closely to Louis’, Harry allowed their lips to touch as he whispered softly against Louis’ mouth, “Shhh. Don’t blush.”

Obviously, Louis responded by doing just that, his cheeks flaming, and Harry threw back his head and laughed. Shaking his head fondly, he grabbed Louis’ pink face in both hands, planted an enormous, loving kiss onto Louis’ lips, and then wordlessly released all of him except for his hand and tugged him the rest of the way up the hill.

~*~

“Yeah. Yeah. Mmm hmm? Totally.” Micheline’s eyes were wide open, but blank, and the pupils were blown out like marbles so that the thin band of murky grey iris was barely even visible. Even her voice sounded absent; she drawled every word in an odd, thick accent and sounded completely zoned out. Still, Harry was most worried about the way she appeared to be having a conversation with them when no one had said a word.

He exchanged worried glances with Louis, who nudged up a little more closely against him on the sofa and stared mistrustfully at the girl, who stood in the centre of the room, swaying unsteadily and staring unanimatedly into thin air, focusing on something which no one else could see. As they watched, she reached out and grasped at something, taking a fistful of thin air, and cooed excitedly over it, twisting her hand back and forth to admire something she clearly believed she could see. With her free hand, she raised a cigarette to her pursed lips, inhaled deeply, and took it away with a puff of smoke, leaving a deep red lipstick imprint on the paper. She giggled oddly, and it was pitched unusually high and ended in a sound which more resembled a sob.

“Are you okay?” Harry asked anxiously.

“Mm? Yeah, I’m…” She stared dreamily into space, tracing an odd shape into the air with her cigarette, painting the air with thick white smoke – and then she swiped through it with her free hand, scattering the foggy substance through the room. Delight blossomed across her face – then she jerked, blinked at Harry, and her expression abruptly hardened as she seemed to come back to herself somewhat. “Fine,” she said a little sharply.

Louis squeezed Harry’s elbow warningly; warning him to let _him_ do the talking. “Well, you’re busy,” he announced charmingly, “so if you’d like, we can take Alice off your hands for a little while.”

Another puff of smoke curled out of Micheline’s flared nostrils, making her look like an irate blue dragon as she narrowed her eyes at them. “Who?”

“…Alice,” Louis said slowly. “Your baby.”

“Oh! _That_ Alice,” Micheline said, like she knew at least twenty different Alices and he could have been referring to any of them. “She’s in the back. The bath. The…whatsit. The garden.”

“Are you sure about that?” Harry asked warily.

“Of course I’m sure! I’m not an idiot!” Micheline waved them away in irritation. “Just go through. Go get her!”

“Charming,” Louis muttered in Harry’s ear as they hurried out of the room and headed for the back door, which was swinging slightly open on its hinges. “Told you she was a bitch.”

“Shh!” Harry admonished, elbowing him in the ribs, “she’ll hear!”

“Yeah, right. She’s too busy hearing voices to hear what anyone in the real world has to say. _‘Yeah. Yeah. Totally!’_ ” Louis mimicked.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Okay, so maybe she isn’t all there. But what do you expect? I don’t know what the hell that is she’s smoking, but I doubt it’s legal.”

“Yeah, but does she really strike you as the _legal_ type?”

“Not really.” Harry knelt down beside baby Alice, who lay flat on her bag on a rug, glowering at the sky, seeming disgruntled – but the moment she clapped eyes on him, her little face lit up and she squealed, reaching out her little arms to try and throw them around his neck. He scooped her up and nestled her against his chest, and once she’d wriggled into a more comfortable position, Alice yawned and closed her eyes. “Someone needs a nap. What was she thinking, leaving you alone like that?” Harry was determined not to sound angry, so he wouldn’t alarm the baby, but his voice was starting to shake. He’d always had a dangerous temper.

Louis laid a cautious hand on his arm. “Harry. Calm down, yeah? Deep breaths. We discussed this remember? In…out.”

Harry choked a harsh breath inwards and huffed crossly out again within the space of a second, and then he was continuing his angry tirade. “Who leaves a baby all alone on a rug in the middle of a garden? Especially _this_ garden.” This garden, with only a few collapsing wooden slats which barely resembled a fence; this garden, with more weeds than grass; this garden, with tin cans and various other rubbish littering the floor. This garden, which made Harry shudder in disgust.

“In!” Louis reminded him.

Harry blew fiercely out, ruffling his curls so that they puffed up over his forehead and fluttered a little, as if caught in a breeze. “I’m just – why would you – _oh_! She makes me so _angry_ , Louis! Does this woman know nothing about parenting? I could slap her!”

“Oh, please do.” Louis grinned. “Oh. I shouldn’t have said that, should I?” He encircled an arm around Harry’s waist and pulled him closely against his side, fondly shaking his head. “Let’s get her to somewhere that meets your approval of an appropriate living environment for someone else’s kid, shall we?”

“Excellent idea. Shall we go? Preferably _before_ we all end up on the roof singing Peruvian folk songs and smoking whatever it is that Micheline thinks is an appropriate substance for pumping into her lungs?”

“Your wish is my command. I’m your fairy godmother, okay?”

“Hmm…fairy is right…not so sure about the godmother part; I’m pretty sure that’s incest.”

“Shut up,” Louis said fondly.

And with that, a couple of playful pokes and the odd joking insult, the two of them cheerfully exited Micheline’s gloomy, unkempt, unwelcoming garden, the garden which was beginning to reflect her own personality of late, and they headed happily off back into the Brighton sunshine – into a place far more pleasant for both themselves and the young baby they carried with them.


	7. Chapter 7

“Yeah. Of course, that’s great! So, uh…you think it’d be okay if I showed up to do an interview in person on…shall we say Friday? I can do Friday. Can you do Friday?” Louis looked down at the notebook he usually wrote psychiatric observations in and scribbled _Friday_ and a phone number down in a messy scrawl, then drew a ring around it and punctuated the whole thing with a smiley face. “Excellent. Well, I’ll –”

The door swung open and Louis yelped, all but falling off his chair; he had to grasp his desk for support. In the doorway stood a man called Evan; he was skinny and unpleasant and his whole body was emaciated, like it was slowly wasting away, apart from his gleaming white teeth and unpleasantly active eyes, which glittered knowingly every time they looked at something. Louis had always found him unnerving, but especially as he’d been halfway through trying to get himself another job, he could have done with not having the man burst into his office so unexpectedly. Struggling to get his breath back, Louis said hastily “Um, tell you what, I have to go right now, so I’ll – I’ll call you back.” He hung up, shoved his phone into his pockets and attempted to smile warmly at Evan. The beads of sweat gathering on Evan’s receding black hairline made him look so repulsive that even Louis’ usually flawless smile faltered, sickened by the sight.

“Slacking off, were we? Making personal calls, were we? Eh? Eh?” His voice was thin, reedy and unpleasant, just like the rest of him. Evan walked over to him simply for the opportunity to nudge Louis conspiritavely in the side with a frighteningly bony elbow. Louis fought a shudder.

“Yep, you got me,” he said grimly, and then forced another wobbly smile onto his face.

The man’s face cracked, and at first Louis thought he’d split his face open and was about to start bleeding all over the floor – then he spotted the flash of unnaturally clean teeth and realized with horror that Evan was _smiling_ at him. Nauseated, he grabbed the desk with both hands and felt the colour leech from his face, turning him unhealthily white.

“I knew it!” announced Evan gleefully, as he dropped himself down into Harry’s chair. Louis felt another shiver trickle down his spine like cold water at the thought that the man’s skinny backside was parked in the chair that had always reminded him so strongly of Harry, that he would only ever see as being Harry’s. “Don’t worry, I won’t tell. Your secret’s safe with me.” Another frightening grin that made Louis feel a little bit faint.

“Okay,” Louis almost squeaked, pulling his notebook towards him and flipping over the page to hide the number of the psychiatric clinic he’d been trying to get a job at. He clicked his pen nervously. “So. Any underlying issues that have been bothering you lately?”

Evan then proceeded to give him an in-depth description of his gammy knee, an injury that he’d inflicted years ago by walking into a barbed wire fence whilst drunk, and which had never completely healed, and had a habit of aching every so often. He outlined the many stresses of being in prison, namely the food, which he apparently felt left a lot to be desired. (Personally, Louis thought that the idea of the man eating _anything_ would be a miracle; he looked like he’d never had a forkful of food in his life.) He told Louis a long and boring story about his kids, who’d all grown up years ago, and how he had recently found out he had a grandson and was sure the child would grow up a “bad ‘un” due to lack of a grandfather figure. In fact, he had just gotten onto the subject of a rumour he’d heard about increasing petrol prices and how he was certain the economy would be in ruins by the time he was released when Louis felt the last traces of his patience completely ebb away and he saw red – and purple, and green, and blue, and a couple of other sparkly colours, and the fury escaped him because he was honestly sick of listening to boring men whine about boring things.

“Listen, Evan,” he said impatiently, “do you _actually_ have any concerns about your own mental wellbeing? Because I am paid to care about that. Your views on the new government regulations on petrol prices, however, I am not. If that is all you have to talk about, then no offence, but do you mind sending someone else in who actually _needs_ my help?”

“That’s the problem, though, isn’t it? Nobody needs you any more, Louis. You did your job too well. You fixed everyone and now nobody needs their heads messing with. Everyone’s told you their secrets and you helped them to mend their minds, and now they’re all patched up and they don’t _need_ fixing anymore. There’s not even any point in you being here – just to talk, that’s all. You’re just here to talk. So I’m _sorry_ ,” Evan said venemously, “if my chosen topics of discussion don’t interest you!”

Louis sighed wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, exasperated with himself. After all, how many times had he admonished Harry for flying off the handle and losing his temper too easily? Shaking his head, he said a little more calmly, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that. But if you don’t need my help, then maybe you shouldn’t be in my office.” He got to his feet, turned around and faced the back wall, keeping himself turned away from the man so he couldn’t be tempted to punch him.

“Oh, just go home,” Evan sneered, “back to that raving, murderous little nutter you live with.”

Stunned, Louis whirled around and stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t look so surprised that I know. The guys told me enough times. You found the most sick, twisted bastard in this place and you tried to sort him out, and when you figured out that he couldn’t be fixed, you got this weird thing for him. He develops a lame little crush on you, and all of a sudden you’re banging in the supply closet,” Evan declared with relish.

“Get out.” Louis’ voice was quiet but furious.

“The more twisted he got, the more you liked him – and somehow you ended up exploiting some dumb legal loophole and getting him out of here – and then you decided to _marry_ the freak. I wouldn’t want to share _my_ bed with a murderer, but whatever floats your boat, I suppose. So why don’t you scuttle home to him, hmm? You can’t get bored of him – you’ll never sort his mind out, and you’ll never stop trying.”

“Get out!”

“Wouldn’t be surprise if he snaps one day and murders you in your bed. Or chops himself to ribbons again; he did that too, or so I hear. I’d keep him away from sharp objects if I were you. You never know what a lunatic will do.”

“GET OUT!” Louis shrieked. He would have been embarrassed by the sheer pitch his voice had reached, but  he was too angry to think of trivial things like that. “GET OUT!” His hand was slamming repetitively down on the emergency panic button that Liam had so long ago installed beneath his desk as he snatched up his briefcase, opened it and started tossing his things into it with a snarl. “I’m _sick_ of this place! Sick of all the gossiping that goes on behind my back! I’m sick of all of you! I’m leaving right this instant and I’m never coming  back!” He was so furious that he swept his plant onto the floor without even caring, and angrily kicked the bits of shattered pot so that soil spilled all over the carpet.

As two of the guards burst in and one of them yanked Evan’s hands behind his back restraining him, the other stared at Louis in disbelief, watching him throw his possessions into his briefcase like a man possessed. “Louis, what the hell are you doing?”

“Leaving,” Louis snapped as he slammed the now bulging briefcase shut and stepped around his desk, over the plant which had once excited him so and which now lay on the floor in a pile of broken ceramics and mud. “I’ve had it with this place. I did everything I could to help all of these guys, and how did they all repay me? By waiting until I’d sorted all your issues and then badmouthing the love of my life behind my back, and then telling me I’m useless and there’s no point in me even being here! Well you know what? Tell them that they win. Because I resign, and you’ll never see me again! Ever!”

He struggled to lift the heavy briefcase, stomped over to the door and spared one last slightly wistful glance towards the chair, caressing it with his eyes (which truthfully was far more pleasant than physically touching it, bearing in mind how shabby and clammy it always was). But a memory of Harry’s achingly beautiful smile, and the sound of Evan’s cruel words echoing discordantly in his ears had Louis reaching for the door-handle, taking hold of it, then yanking the door open and storming out of his office for the very last time. He stalked down the hallway, ignoring all the open mouths and the sounds of familiar voices asking where he was going – and once he’d reached the final doorway between him and freedom, he turned around to face them all, chest heaving.

“I quit!” he said dramatically. Then he turned, flashed his passcard and was out of the door and away before any of them could so much as raise an eyebrow at his theatrics.

~*~

As was increasingly becoming the norm, Harry and Alice were sat on a rug on the beach, Harry holding the little girl on his lap as they stared out to sea. He liked to think that they had a mutual agreement going on as to how the days progressed: he would play games with her for a while, silly, simple things like ‘peek-a-boo!’ and pulling stupid faces, and then he would talk to her for hours, spilling out all his innermost feelings and secrets that he’d never even told Louis – mainly because Louis was the focus of so many of them. He was embarrassed to admit to half of it.

Truthfully, he just needed someone to talk to about Louis, and nobody else could listen so appreciatively to the tales of the wonderfulness of Louis Tomlinson as baby Alice could. She gazed wide-eyed at Harry as he revealed every single one of his secrets to her, like she was listening, like she understood. And sometimes, when he was shyly admitting to her that Louis was the reason he got up in the morning, and the reason he was still living and breathing happily, a huge smile would spread across the little girl’s face, as if it pleased her to hear about two people being so simply and honestly in love.

They had been silent for a while, just enjoying the afternoon – but now Alice was back on Harry’s knee, and he was talking to her again, absentmindedly tickling her under her chin or on her little hands so that she giggled quietly. He had a lot on his mind at the moment, and she was his avid, if unresponsive listener.

“I’m worried about him, Al,” he admitted. “I don’t think he’s happy. It takes a lot out of him, driving to Doncaster and back every day. Besides, he’s been miserable at that place ever since Liam got transferred; he has no one to talk to any more. He used to be mates with everyone, but he’s kind of gotten reclusive, I suppose, ever since that awful situation with Derek…it’s so much harder for him to trust people, you know? Especially since it turned out to be the doorman, Ian, who let Derek into our apartment block in the first place. Traitor.” He glowered disgustedly into empty space, like he could see the man standing in front of him and was mentally punching him into oblivion.

Waves crawled lethargically up the beach, crashing lazily onto the golden sands and then slowly rolling back out to sea. A couple of seagulls made ugly squawking noises that blended together into a bearable background noise. Harry stared thoughtfully out to sea, and Alice watched him with a very serious expression.

“He gets bored so easily, too. He does his job too well. I get the impression that nobody really needs him anymore, and Louis hates feeling useless. Oh, he acts like he’s happy, but he can’t fool me. I know him too well. You only have to look into his eyes to see the sadness in them. He hates every second he spends there, but he won’t tell me because he knows I’d never let him go if he admitted to it. I understand that we need money, but I do wish there was some other way that wouldn’t make him so unhappy. It’s nothing dramatic; I can’t say he doesn’t smile any more, because he does, every day. And it’s genuine. But that’s only when he comes back to me. While he’s out there, he just sits around feeling miserable, and it isn’t good for him!” Harry slowly shook his head. “Good thing that Micheline’s started paying me to take care of you; we’re barely staying afloat as it is. If he lost his job…well. It wouldn’t be good. That’s the only reason I haven’t made him pack it in already. I don’t want more stress heaped up on his shoulders on top of everything else.”

Alice looked sad, and he felt almost guilty for unloading all of his troubles onto a baby before he remembered that she probably had no idea what he was on about, and her downcast expression was probably because he’d stopped tickling her, so he went back to poking lightly at her little stomach and she collapsed into giggles once again.

“He loves me. I love him too. We try so hard to make it work, Alice; really, we do. It _is_ working. Just not perhaps as smoothly as we could have hoped. There’ll always be kinks, I know that, but our kinks have been bigger than most, and they’re so hard to smooth out…” He huffed wearily and felt a frown creasing his pale forehead.

Harry didn’t even flinch when he felt someone sit behind him and but their arms around him from behind; he just turned his head with eyes already closed and kissed Louis carefully, making sure he didn’t squeeze Alice too tightly as he did so. It was kind of an uncomfortable position, so Louis shifted around until he was sat by Harry’s side, tucking the younger man against his side and gently nuzzling his neck.

“I thought I’d find you here,” Louis whispered.

“To be fair, when am I _not_ here?” Harry paused. “More to the point, why are _you_ here? Shouldn’t you be at work? Not that I’m complaining.”

Louis shook his head. “Not any more…I’ve joined the massed ranks of the unemployed.” He nibbled his lips worriedly, anxiously awaiting Harry’s response, which he was almost certain would be angry and demanding.

It wasn’t. “Can’t say I’m sorry. That job was doing awful things to you. You came home every night with dead eyes and it takes a lot of effort to relight that spark.” Harry turned his head and asked cautiously “mind if I ask why?”

“A combination of reasons. But I wasn’t fired, if that’s what you’re getting at. I walked out. I couldn’t take it any more. This guy – Evan – was being obnoxious, heaping more and more horrible stuff on me by the second, and I just snapped. Threw everything into my briefcase and gave them a verbal resignation; namely me shouting ‘I quit!’. And then I did a very dramatic and memorable exit.”

“Oh, I bet you did. What was he saying?”

Rooted to the spot, Louis said “uh…nothing much.”

“No lies, Louis,” Harry reminded him with closed eyes, tilting his face upwards to allow the sun to bathe him in warmth.

Louis sighed. “Right.” That was going to get on his nerves pretty quickly, bearing in mind that he’d been the one who established it. “He was saying stuff about…us. About you.” The words were falling from his mouth in a rush before he could take them back; “He pretty much accused me of getting off on your mental distress. Said that I liked having someone who was ‘beyond fixing’ and I was only with you because I liked the challenge.”

“Oh.” Harry’s voice was stiff, and Louis wished he’d made something up. “Charming.”

“Isn’t it?” Louis agreed in a subdued tone.

For a while they were silent, and nature did the talking. The soft swoosh of the waves and the wind cooled the last remnants of Louis’ simmering anger, and the cries of birds overhead soothed Harry’s hurt feelings at the accusations that Louis had passed on. They knew it was all okay again when Harry’s stiff shoulders relaxed, he sighed, and leaned against Louis with his head resting on the older man’s shoulder. Louis breathed a silent sigh of relief and snuggled closely against Harry, stealing some of his warmth; with bare arms, having not had the presence of mind to wear a jumper like Harry had, he was quite cold, but Harry’s long body heated him nicely and the goosebumps that had risen on his arms were shrinking rapidly.

“It’s not true, you know,” he promised softly. “I love you.”

Harry sighed. “I know that. It just still hurts me when people say awful things like that. It shouldn’t matter, really, but I can’t help the way I feel.”

Louis responded by squeezing him lightly, and then he swiftly changed the subject, which was what Harry needed him to do. “What did you two do today then, hmm?” he asked, shaking one of Alice’s little hands. “Did you have fun?”

Looking at him solemnly with her big eyes, Alice blinked at him. “Ha,” she said seriously.

He blinked at her, and Harry glanced confusedly down at her as well, bewildered by the noise. It wasn’t a laugh; it was a defined, deliberate sound, two letters that had come from her mouth completely on purpose.

“I’m sorry, love, what was that?” Louis asked.

She struggled for a moment, a little furrow forming on her forehead – and then with a supreme amount of effort, she forced out a deliberate, delicate “Ha-ee.”

They both stared at her in abject horror – because if she had really just spoken, and the word had been what it appeared to be, they were in trouble.

“Say that again,” Harry ordered.

Alice beamed up at him. “Ha-ee!” She clumsily patted his cheek. “Ha-ee.”

Horrified, Harry looked up at Louis and his hand flew to his mouth. “Oh God. She did, didn’t she? She just said my name. Her very first word, and it was _my_ name, her _babysitter’s_ name, Jesus Christ, how do we explain that to her parents? Her first word won’t be ‘mama’ or ‘dadda’, it’ll be _my_ bloody name!” He was stunned – but at the same time, overjoyed. A little girl had just chosen _his_ name to be the first word she ever spoke.

Louis was worried, but he did his best not to show it. “Ah, well,” he said breezily, “could be worse. She could have chosen something far worse, bearing in mind the kind of language her parents come out with on a daily basis.”

Harry giggled. “That’s true. But oh, God, Micheline is going to go _mad_ ,” he groaned. “Come on, Alice; come on, baby girl. Say something else, go on,” he coaxed. “Say, ‘mama’.”

Making deliberate eye contact with him, Alice said clearly “Ha-ee.”

“No, that’s not right. _Ma-ma_.”

She scowled. “Ha-ee,” she said forcefully.

Louis chuckled. “Oh, dear. She’s certainly got your obstinacy.”

“What are we going to do? She’s never going to shut up now. We taught someone else’s baby to speak, and the only thing she’ll say is my name!” Harry moaned and buried his face in his hands. Voice muffled, he said “We’re doomed!”

“It isn’t the end of the world. Alice could be singing the national anthem word-for-word and Micheline probably wouldn’t notice. We’ll just have to hope that either she doesn’t realize, or doesn’t care.”

“Oh, God. I hope so, Louis. I _bloody_ hope so.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Without spoiling it, this chapter has blood, trauma and mpreg, among other things, so if you’re not comfortable with that kind of stuff, you should probably…you know…skip this one.

_Harry smiled as he walked across the kitchen to slide his arms around Louis from behind, watching fondly as Louis made himself a cup of tea and generously awarded himself about six spoonfuls of sugar. Him and his sweet tooth! It was adorable. Harry rested his chin on Louis’ shoulder and turned his head to kiss him lightly on the cheek, admiring the cute look of concentration on Louis’ face as he poured boiling water into his mug and started stirring the teabag around. Behind him, Harry smiled and then he stepped backwards and shook his head in amusement at how far Louis had to stretch his arms to reach the kitchen counter._

_These days, everything made Louis have to concentrate. He was slower than he had been, and he struggled to do the things he had always been good at – Harry found it funny, and he offered to help regularly, but Louis always pouted and turned him down, saying ‘I can do things by myself!’ Harry found it all pretty hilarious if he was honest, especially the time when he had said something particularly cheeky, Louis had gone to swat at him, missed, and then attempted to chase him around the house and tickle him like he usually would have done – except he got breathless halfway through the chase and had to lie flat on his back on the floor, puffing and panting, while Harry nearly choked on his own laughter, almost crying with amusement at the sight._

_Shaking his head like he could read Harry’s mind – although from the flaming grin on his face, his thoughts were probably pretty obvious – Louis snatched a tea towel from the side and playfully flicked Harry with it, although he was clumsy and almost missed. Tutting at himself, he patted his stomach regretfully and turned back to the counter to put the towel back and give his tea another token stir._

_“Good God, Lou, how do you cope like that? I don’t know how you can still stand. You’re the size of a house, for crying out loud!” He grinned._

_“I’m an elephant,” Louis agreed, turning around with his hands folded over his swollen stomach and laughing as Harry’s eyes popped at the sight of him._

_Harry was still getting used to the sight of seeing Louis with such a huge, rounded shape blossoming from beneath his shirt – to be fair, if Louis had been female, he might have gotten used to it quicker; seeing your true love with a suddenly very pregnant stomach was a struggle enough to become accustomed to, but what with Louis being a man, it was even harder to get his head around. Not that he didn’t like seeing Louis with a baby inside of him; it was heart warming, especially since he happened to know that he himself had put it there, but it still made him jump a little bit every time he saw it._

_“Bless. Keep your eyes in your head; they’re popping out more than my belly button,” Louis joked._

_“That’s disgusting. But true.” Harry smiled and held out a hand questioningly. “Can I..?”_

_“Be my guest.”_

_Harry reached out and carefully pressed his hand against Louis’ stomach, feeling his own pulse fluttering fiercely. Through all the layers of skin and muscle, he was touching their child. It was the most amazing feeling in the world, and he couldn’t help but stroke Louis a couple of times, feeling the strangely round shape of him. All of a sudden, Louis made an odd face and started spluttering with laughter._

_“That tickles!”_

_“Sorry,” Harry said, and he stepped back to examine Louis from a distance._

_His face was lightly flushed with pleasure and his eyes were shining as he gazed back at Harry, one hand resting on his stomach like it was a table strapped to him that was there for his own convenience. Despite his calm, there was a strange protectiveness in the way he cradled the bump, like he was guarding it, and Harry felt curious as to what it must feel like to know that something – someone! – was growing inside of you. How it would feel to have it kicking your insides…he loved it already, this thing that Louis had inside him, the thing that he was keeping safe._

_He didn’t think he’d ever seen Louis look so happy, so sweet…so beautiful. Harry wanted to throw him roughly against the closest available flat surface and have him over the kitchen counter right there and then, but even he had to admit that perhaps wasn’t the best way to treat either Louis or their unborn child, so he ended up giving him a careful cuddle, holding him against his chest and rubbing his hands down Louis’ back. Lately Louis had been – not complaining, exactly, but Harry had caught him making faces and having to catch his breath on an increasingly regular basis, holding his back, and it wasn’t hard to figure out what the problem was. A baby was a heavy thing to carry around. Harry carefully massaged a couple of circles, expanding outwards like ripples in water, at the base of Louis’ spine._

_“Mmm,” Louis sighed, closing his eyes, “that feels nice. You have_ no _idea how much effort it takes lugging this thing around all the time. I don’t know how women manage, doing it over and over. I’ll never underestimate a woman again.”_

_“_ I’ll _never underestimate_ you _again,” Harry promised, “you’re amazing. I love you so much.” He kissed Louis lightly on the lips and then intensified his careful circling, as if he had any idea what he was doing. Improvisation wasn’t something he did very often, but it was the least he could do, considering. “Tell me if it starts hurting.”_

_“_ Oh _…hurting, are you mad, that’s bloody fantastic…” Leaning into him, Louis breathed out and relaxed into his embrace as Harry continued. “Thank you._ Oh _…” He wriggled a little bit underneath Harry’s hands, breathing out heavily against Harry’s neck._

_Harry hesitated. “Did that hurt? I’m sorry.”_

_“No, it…no, it feels_ really _good actually…” Louis sighed again and settled down against Harry with a low, contented noise in the back of his throat. “So good…_ God _, babies are a lot of work; no one warned me how much they take out of you…”_

_“You do too much; that’s your problem. You should complain more. You know I’d do anything for you; you could try asking.”_

_“I don’t want to be a bother.”_

_“Don’t be ridiculous! Come on, you should know by now that any excuse to fuss over you is welcome in my book. It’d be great. I’d love to fetch you comfy slippers and hot water bottles and…put butter on your crumpets.” Harry chuckled and increased the pressure, probing lightly on the stress-knots at the base of Louis’ spine._

_“Oh, God, don’t, you make me feel positively middle aged,” Louis groaned, arching his back against Harry’s hands to give him better access. “I don’t know if you should be doing this; it’s starting to feel far too much like some kind of seduction, and I don’t think sex is good for the baby.”_

_Harry laughed at him. “You’re probably right; we don’t want her growing up like some kind of sex-crazed maniac child, do we?”_

_For a while, Louis just enjoyed the feel of those large hands easing all of the stress and aches out of the base of his back, and then he murmured “Her?”_

_“Oh!” Harry reddened with embarrassment, suddenly shy. “I just…yeah. I kind of always see her as a girl, you know? Our little baby girl.”_

_Louis smiled at him. “Darcy?”_

_“Well…only if you’re happy with that. You’re the one whose putting all the work in – carrying her around, and all. It’s up to you.”_

_“I like Darcy.” Looking fondly down at his stomach, Louis smiled at it. “Funny, though, I still can’t seem to get it into my head that there’s a little person swimming around in there.”_

_Harry knelt down in front of Louis, causing a giant and mischievous grin to appear on Louis’ face the moment Harry got on his knees._

_“Careful. If you’re going to do that, make sure you don’t knock yourself out if you’re going to be bobbing your head around too wildly. Junior here is pretty sturdy, all things considered; you might as well hit yourself over the head with a rock,” he teased._

_Rolling his eyes, Harry gently placed a hand on either side of Louis’ stomach. “Get your mind out of the gutter and your equipment back in your pants,” he chided, but he didn’t really mind; he was smiling even more as he carefully pressed his ear against Louis’ tummy, like he could hear the baby inside gurgling to herself._

_“Joking aside though, does it ever creep you out? I mean…that isn’t a factor one would usually have to take into consideration, is it? I mean…I’m_ pregnant _.” He laughed in utter disbelief, looking down at himself and shaking his head. “Never thought I’d hear myself say that.”_

_“_ I _never thought I’d hear you say that either,” Harry admitted, “but I’m not complaining.” He sighed and nuzzled against Louis’ chest. “I love you so much.”_

_Louis smiled at him and went to reply – but before he could get the words out, he twitched, flinching a little. A strange expression crossed his face, a tiny confused frown, like he’d just realized there was something he had to remember but he didn’t know what it was. As his forehead creased, he instinctively reached down and touched his bump, rubbing it with one hand like it was stressed and he was calming it down._

_“You okay there, Lou?” Harry asked, looking at him with slight concern._

_Taking a deep breath, Louis massaged his stomach again and said “…Yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Just had a bit of a weird moment – you know. Pregnant. It happens.”_

_“What kind of a weird moment?” Harry asked, and he reached out, took Louis’ wrist and checked his pulse for unknown reasons._

_“_ I _don’t know. I just came over a bit dizzy, that’s all. I’m fine now; no need to panic. Promise me you aren’t panicking?”_

_“Of course I’m not panicking! I just worry about you, that’s all. You work too hard.”_

_“I was making a cup of tea!”_

_Harry ignored him. “Sit down, babe, yeah? Go on. Please. I’ll finish making this for you; go and put your feet up.”_

_“Oh yeah, I’ll go and put on some comfy slippers while I’m at it, shall I?” asked Louis, but he rolled his eyes and headed off into the living room._

_When Harry came to join him, Louis was curled up with his legs underneath him and his chin resting on his hand, his teeth resting on his lower lip as he concentrated, and he was stroking his stomach rhythmically with a slightly anxious look on his face. Harry went and sat down beside him, and he placed a hand on Louis’ stomach as well, unsettled by the worried expression Louis was wearing and the lines on his forehead._

_“Are you sure you’re all right?”_

_“I think so. It’s probably just one of those weird things, isn’t it? I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like…the baby’s probably just kicking me again or something.”_

_“This isn’t the first time it’s done that. Wouldn’t it feel the same every time?”_

_“Oh, Harry, I don’t know! Probably. It might just be kicking a bit harder, that’s all. Please don’t make a big thing out of it. I don’t want to start making a stupid fuss over nothing. Come here.” Louis pulled Harry against him and they leaned against each other, Harry’s curls tickling the side of Louis’ face as Louis carefully stroked down his arm. “Honestly, I really don’t know much about this, but I’m sure you don’t have to keep having a panic attack every time I get a bit of a twinge.”_

_“A twinge? That doesn’t sound good. Does it hurt?”_

_“_ Harry!”

_“Sorry, sorry!” Harry said hastily._

_“You’d better be. And no, it doesn’t_ hurt _exactly, it just feels kind of odd – a bit like being pinched, I guess, but on the inside…it’s hard to describe.”_

_Carefully patting Louis’ stomach, Harry offered “Want me to get you anything? Paracetamol, or a hot water bottle, or –”_

_“I left my tea in the kitchen,” Louis admitted, “but I shouldn’t –”_

_“I’ll go and get it!” Harry said almost excitedly, and he leapt up and dashed out of the room to fetch the tea with a ridiculous amount of enthusiasm._

_Louis fell back against the cushions with a small sigh as Harry vanished out of sight. Within a few short moments, Harry was in the kitchen and retrieving the tea. On a whim, he took a little experimental sip of it himself and flinched as he scalded his tongue._

_He raised the mug and blew on it gently, cooling the tea so that Louis wouldn’t burn his mouth on it. He’d felt oddly protective lately; something told him he ought to take care of Louis – perhaps it was the huge bump swelling beneath his clothes – and he was hardly going to pass up on the opportunity. After all, Louis was usually the one who was overbearingly defensive and protective of_ him.

_Just as he was about to start taking the mug through to the living room, a sound shattered the calm – not just any sound; a yelp; a cry. It was an achingly familiar voice, but he’d never heard it make such a terrible noise before. That was a sound of pure agony, a noise which ripped its way out of Louis’ throat and into the open air and shredded his lungs on the way out. Never before had a single noise affected Harry so badly, but to him it sounded like hell – the mug slipped through his fingers and crashed to the floor, and hot tea would have cascaded over Harry’s bare feet if he hadn’t already been moving, sprinting for the living room like he was running for his life. Except there were two other lives featuring more predominantly in his concerns, and both of those lives resided in the room he was suddenly rushing back into._

_Almost bent double in pain, Louis was hanging on to his stomach and giving little cries, all the colour leeched from his face leaving him unhealthily pale and trembling as he stood beside the sofa. In a panic, Harry rushed over to him and leaned over him, wanting to put an arm around him but terrified of hurting him further. Helplessly, he reached for Louis’ wrist and held that instead._

_“Louis?”_

_“Harry!” Louis panted, wrapping his fingers around Harry’s and squeezing fiercely. “Harry, it hurts – ah!” He cried out and flinched horribly for unseen reasons, grimacing and wrapping an arm around his stomach._

_“Louis!” All Harry could do was cry out as Louis cringed and tears came to his eyes, and all of a sudden Louis was struggling to stay upright and hanging on to Harry’s arm as he fought to stay on his feet. He had a vicelike death-grip on Harry’s left bicep, and Harry himself was starting to turn white with pain, but he wasn’t going to let go – not for anything._

_Sweeping an arm underneath Louis to hold him up, Harry carefully lifted Louis up and held him in his arms like a scene from a stupid movie, and he laid him down on the sofa and brushed his hair off his forehead with frightening tenderness, trying to soothe him even though he himself was just as terrified. His hands fluttered helplessly over Louis as he desperately tried to do something useful, but there was very little he_ could _do other than hold onto Louis and try to calm him, even though his whispers were barely discernible underneath the weak little moans that were falling relentlessly out of Louis’ mouth as he twisted in pain._

_“Lou, Lou, come on, it’s okay, you’re okay,” Harry babbled as Louis crushed his fingers with frightening intensity and Harry ended up kneeling beside him so that Louis could hold him tighter against him._

_“Harry, I’m scared,” Louis said desperately._

_“Don’t be scared.” Harry cupped his face with one trembling hand. “It’s all going to be okay.”_

_A very wobbly smile forced its way onto Louis’ face, and he attempted to give a very shaky nod – but a couple of tears dribbled helplessly down his face, and Harry could only grab him and yank him closely against him in a quick hug to try and offer the reassurance that his words couldn’t, because there had been no conviction behind them._

_“Something’s not right,” Louis whimpered. “Something is_ definitely _not right!”_

_“What do you mean? With the bump?”_

_Harry reached down to carefully probe Louis’ stomach with gentle hands, but the second he rested his palm over Louis’ stretched skin, Louis screamed and Harry recoiled instantly, snatching his fingers away as if he was entirely responsible for the horrible pain that was ripping through Louis from the inside – he cringed guiltily, his face falling…and as he pulled his hand away, he realized that it was weirdly warm…and damp…taking his fingers away, he discovered that they were sticky and red._

_For a few moments he looked stupidly down at his scarlet fingers, wondering how on earth he could have cut himself and where all the blood was coming from, and why it wasn’t hurting – and, heart hammering, he refused to glance down at the rapidly growing deep red stain on Louis’ shirt, terrified of what he might have to come to terms with if he acknowledged it._

_“Harry!”_

_He had to look down…had to see…and there Louis was, snow-white and with wide eyes, in pain, and grabbing Harry’s hands for reassurance. Right then, Harry realized that everything, every tiny plan and perfect moment, was crashing down around his ears, falling apart on top of his head. Louis let out a cry, and Harry felt his fingers be crushed without complaint._

_His vision blurred as his eyes glazed over with a film of tears, like someone had dragged a watery curtain across his irises to hide the horrible sight from him –_

~*~

Harry jerked so violently in horror that he whacked his head extremely hard on something, and pain exploded through his head causing him to swear viciously and reach up for the source of what had hit him. Quickly discovering the headboard of his bed, he grabbed at it and then his eyes flew open and he abruptly sat upright in bed, grabbing at the duvet.

Disorientated, he looked wildly around; it was pitch black and a quick flicker of his wide eyes towards their alarm clock told him that it was still the early hours of the morning, when only seconds ago he could have sworn that it was the middle of the afternoon. Yet he appeared to be sat bolt upright in the darkness with his heart pounding against the inside of his ribcage like a hammer. Once he realized that he’d actually just woken up, and it had all been a dream, another question occurred to him: how _much_ of it had been a dream?

Frantically turning to make sure that Louis was lying beside him, he carefully touched one of Louis’ cheeks and checked that he was still breathing evenly. Then he took a couple of deep breaths himself and closed his eyes, because yeah, Louis was still alive, and he was perfectly okay – but now he had to figure out which parts had been a dream and what was reality, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

In the end, curiosity won out, and he dipped his hand underneath the duvet to lightly lay it over Louis’ stomach – and he felt his heart sink down into his stomach and settle there like a weight when he ran his fingers lightly across the skin and discovered that Louis had his old, taut tanned stomach back – stretch marks gone, no trace of any baby. Tears pricked at Harry’s eyes as he realized that he had been panicking over a child that had never even existed.

He felt ridiculous. You can’t spot a dream while you’re having it, but he still ought to have realized that men couldn’t get pregnant, that it was all impossible, that the situation should have struck an odd note…yet it had all seemed so stupidly _real_ , so perfect, so painfully close to how he had envisioned his perfect relationship as being. The classic dream. _His_ classic dream. In tatters; shattered and torn, and at that moment, waking up and finding himself in tears over something he’d never had, he felt that even watching Louis be ripped apart right in front of him was better than realizing that the child he was suddenly grieving for had never existed in the first place – had all been in his mind.

His fingers brushed shakily down Louis’ cheekbone and he licked his lips worriedly as he traced a line down Louis’ shoulder-blades and dipped down his spine. Then he nuzzled his face into the top of Louis’ head and felt Louis sigh against him while Harry carefully draped an arm over Louis’ waist and cuddled him close, kissing his forehead lightly several times. Louis was okay. There was no blood; there had been no screaming. Just Louis sleeping peacefully. And somewhere deep in his mind Harry knew that miscarriages weren’t that bloody or that brutal, but he couldn’t seem to shake the image.

It took a moment or so for him to steady his breathing a little more, and then he was pulling Louis a little closer to reassure himself.

_She –_ it _wasn’t real,_ he told himself sternly. _Stop being so bloody stupid over something that didn’t even exist. Just stop it right now._

But knowing that their child had never been real didn’t stop the dull ache of loss spreading through his chest and making him feel oddly heavy and sick. With Louis sleeping beside him, unconscious and unable to offer him comfort, he felt stupidly lonely, and as he fumbled blindly for the hem of the duvet and pulled it over their heads, he wasn’t sure whether he was doing it to block out the rest of the world or just so that he could hide his tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I am aware that miscarriage doesn’t really happen like that, but it was a dream sequence and it was always going to be brutal in my head. If this has offended or upset anyone then I am so, so sorry.


	9. Chapter 9

“Come on, then, what’s up with you?”

“Hmm?” Harry looked blankly up from where he had been fiddling with a loose piece of thread on the hem of Louis’ shirt, and he stared up at Louis, who was looking down at him with a mixture of amusement and concern. Harry hadn’t realized, but he’d been systematically unpicking the seams of Louis’ shirt one by one. Blushing, he dropped the fabric and withdrew his destructive hands.

“You’re never this quiet unless there’s something bothering you. Out with it. Oh, and don’t think you can fob me off by pretending you’re subtly trying to get my clothes off, because when you want my clothes off you’re by no means subtle about it, and if that was really your motive then they’d be on the floor right now, so tell me what’s on your mind, and I want the full, unabridged version.”

Embarrassed at being caught out, Harry looked helplessly at the floor. He hadn’t realized that he’d been giving off such clear signs, but it was true; he _had_ been quiet, and he _had_ been distracted, and he _had_ been slowly ripping Louis’ shirt to shreds without paying any attention to what his hands were doing, and now he had no excuse and he was terrible at lying anyway. Making a play for time, he cleared his throat, tapped his foot on the floor, examined his fingernails and attempted to distract Louis for a few more moments while he came up with a satisfactory lie that Louis wouldn’t believe. Louis let him do it for a while, but eventually he made a grab for Harry’s twitching hands and held them still, stopping him from moving.

“Stop fidgeting, you fool, you’re making _me_ nervous. It can’t be _that_ bad.” Louis studied his face for a while. “How bad _is_ it?” he asked anxiously.

“It isn’t. It’s nothing.”

“If it’s nothing, you won’t mind telling me what it is, will you?”

Harry obstinately pressed his lips together and Louis scrutinized his expression and then raised his eyebrows in response to the fiercely protective expression that had unfurled like a banner across Harry’s face.

“So it clearly _is_ something. Harry, we promised not to lie to each other, remember? Or have you forgotten that? It might be nice if you trusted me; we _are_ actually _supposed_ to love each other.”

Horrified, Harry cried “Of course we love each other! Don’t say that! I love you,” he insisted fiercely.

“Then don’t keep things from me! Please, Harry, I can’t bear it. I’ll only be convinced that it’s worse than it actually is if you don’t tell me,” threatened Louis, but his expression was more desolate than anything else.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry mumbled, “it’s stupid.”

“If it’s upsetting you, it most definitely _does_ matter, and I’ll thank you to let _me_ be the judge of whether it’s stupid or not. Now tell me, Harry. _Please._ ”

Harry gazed at the floor and refused to allow himself to focus on it. He wouldn’t twitch, he wouldn’t blink, he wouldn’t _breathe_ , because the tears were coming and he could feel his throat constricting and he was starting to shake and that horrible helpless miserable feeling was clenching in his stomach and making his vision blur and his hands became fists and he still couldn’t stop that stupid tidal wave of emotion that was slowly rising up his throat, choking him. Fiercely shaking his head, Harry bit his lip so hard he was surprised it didn’t bleed, and closed his eyes so that Louis’ expression couldn’t make him feel any worse.

Louis touched him, and that simple touch was almost enough to ruin him, to turn him into a crying, quivering mess of tears and stupid feelings that he should have been ignoring and that he had no reason to be having. It was only a careful touch on the elbow, where Harry’s arms were defensively folded across his chest, but Harry flinched like Louis had slapped him and instantly Louis backed off with his hands up in a wordless apology.

“It was just a dream,” Harry said bitterly, and he hated his shaking voice; it cracked halfway through that bleak little sentence, the one that he had intended to be blasé and careless, and he felt a stab of self-hatred at his own weakness.

Louis stared at him sadly, and reached out a hand as if to touch him, but he pulled it back again just in time and tucked it into his pocket as if to restrain it. It was only because he didn’t want Harry to jerk away from him as he had before, because he didn’t think that Harry wanted to be touched, but it made an ache of loneliness begin radiating through Harry’s chest, slowing his heart and making it swell even more with misery. “Dreams are powerful things,” he said softly.

“They’re all in the mind,” corrected Harry curtly, “no reason to pay any attention to them whatsoever.” His expression was hard and stiff like someone had poured concrete over his face and it had set.

The concrete shattered. All of a sudden, Harry went from a detached, icy statue to a wreck; he quite literally burst into tears. One moment he had been composed and only the lightest of tremors racking his body had been a giveaway of his inner turmoil – but a broken, weak cry burst out of his mouth and a tear spurted down his left cheek like a tiny waterfall had ruptured in his eye. He felt his face crumple like screwed up paper and another horrible noise like shattering glass found its way out of him. No words came; all of his speech was contorted by grief and sounded strangled, as if he was being throttled. Taken aback by the sudden dramatic change to Harry’s demeanour, Louis helplessly reached out and Harry fell into his open arms, choking on his next shuddering breath as the tears just kept coming, a pair of rivers that poured relentlessly down his face. Grabbing Louis and shoving his face into Louis’ chest, Harry moaned brokenly and allowed a couple more stupid, meaningless cries to mangle the air around them. It was like self control was a forgotten concept as Harry poured what felt like every drop of moisture in his body out through his eyes and onto Louis’ shirt and sobbed what felt like pretty much all of his vital organs out, not just his heart but his lungs and his intestines as well, and it _hurt._ He didn’t remember anything hurting so badly; not when he’d sliced his own wrists open, not when he’d had to move prisons and he and Louis had been apart, not when Derek had hurt him, not even when Louis had been abducted and he’d been Derek’s punch-bag and every night Harry had been tormented by nightmares of how Louis might be suffering at the hands of a man so inhumane that Harry wasn’t sure he should even be classed as a man at all.

“Oh, _Harry_!” Louis said, and he hugged him hard – not even an  embrace, really; a proper fierce, protective, best-friend hug, and in that moment Harry knew that Louis was not only his true love, he was his best friend in the world as well, because no one he knew had ever done what needed to be done quite so well as Louis did: he didn’t back away, he didn’t try to comfort Harry, he just hugged him. That was what Harry needed.

“I’m sorry,” Harry sobbed against his shoulder, “I’m being bloody stupid, ignore me, just –” He shoved blindly at Louis in the feeblest push in existence, attempting to push him away because he felt so ridiculous for needing this kind of hug for just a stupid dream, a delusion, something that he saw as pathetic…but Louis just hung on even harder, because Harry _needed_ him, for God’s sake,  and he knew that no matter how much Harry thought he didn’t need Louis, that didn’t mean Louis should indulge his stupidity.                    

Louis squeezed him almost painfully tightly, the sharp bones of Harry’s hips digging into him as he gripped Harry closely against him. The collar of his shirt was sodden  with tears already, and his own chest ached at the sight of such painful misery from Harry. “Come on. Come on. Please don’t cry, Harry. Please. You don’t have to tell me, if it’s upsetting you, but please don’t look like that. Don’t do this to me – it hurts me to see you like this.” His own eyes welled up slightly and grew wet, and he felt angry with himself for having the presumption to be preoccupied with sadness of his own when Harry was so upset.

“I’m sorry,” Harry repeated. Even his _voice_ sounded wet; it was thick and choking and the sound of barely restrained sobs ached behind every syllable.

“What did you dream of, Harry? Louis murmured, and he carefully stroked Harry’s back, not even expecting an answer but feeling he had to ask anyway.

“It was ridiculous. I don’t know why I believed it; it could never happen. It was stupid. _I’m_ stupid. Look, please just forget it – you’ll hate me!”

“How could I hate you over a dream? You had no control over it. It’s just an involuntary action performed by the mind in certain stages of sleep,” recited Louis, “it’s all just a succession of ideas, thoughts, sensations and emotions while your brain-activity is still high. It’s completely out of your control in most situations.” Usually, when Louis got all psychological and fascinated with the inner workings of the human mind, Harry found it cute and would be enthralled, but he just stood miserably in Louis’ arms. “Actually, they can be seen as an interpretation of our deepest desires and anxieties. It’s really interesting. But what I’m trying to say, Harry, is that anything you dreamed about was just something your mind conjured up and you had no control over it – so I do _not_ hate you, okay? And I never will.” 

 Harry rubbed his streaming eyes. “You promise?”

“I promise.”

Swallowing very hard, Harry said in a small voice “Promise you won’t laugh, then? Because it’s really weird and stupid and I don’t know why I didn’t realize it was a dream and I –”

Louis pressed a finger to Harry’s trembling lips, silencing him and cutting off his shaky excuses. “Harry. You really think I could laugh at something which upset you so much?” he asked softly. “Do you really think so little of me?”

Another bucketful of tears filled Harry’s eyes as he said miserably, “You were…”

“Ah.” Louis decided to stop him right there. “Was this dream kind of…was it like a…” He paused, not wanting to humiliate Harry or make him feel any more stupid than he did already. His next words would have to be very delicately placed otherwise he risked upsetting Harry even more. “Was it kind of a…fantasy sort of thing? Something you wanted us to try? Because you don’t have to feel shy about that kind of thing, Harry; if you wanted to try something then I’d give it a go. I can’t promise I’d be any good at it, but I’m definitely open to ideas.” He blushed, feeling idiotic. “Was there something you wanted us to do together?”

“No.” Harry swallowed painfully and licked his lips.

“Was it, uh…anything sexually related? At all?”

Nibbling his lip, Harry said hesitantly, “Not exactly.” He wasn’t entirely sure, to tell the truth; there had definitely been something hot about Louis with a baby bump, and obviously sex had been needed to impregnate him in the first place, but the dream hadn’t been _entirely_ sexually orientated.

“Okay. I interrupted; sorry. Carry on.” Louis’ accompanying smile was nervous.

“You were…” The words stuck in Harry’s throat and he wished he had a glass of water to wash them down with. He would have settled for one of Louis’ kisses to soothe the ache instead; his throat felt clogged and sore, choked with withheld words, but Louis was still patiently waiting for a response to his query. “You were pregnant!” Harry burst out in a rush, and then he turned almost purple in the face and hid himself by pressing his face into Louis’ chest in shame. Mortification was making every part of him burn with embarrassment.

He had expected Louis to be disgusted or horrified by the idea; he was waiting for the shove and the angry words and the horrible feeling of having Louis angry with him – he even flinched a little in anticipation for the flood of fury and misunderstanding, and for Louis to not understand that there had been nothing unhealthy or creepy about his dream at all; just an amplification of his love for Louis and his desperation to have a child. But Louis just looked levelly at him, like it was a perfectly normal thing to say, a normal desire to have…

“All right,” he said calmly, “then what happened?”

Harry was shocked. “Aren’t – aren’t you mad at me?”

“Of course I’m not mad at you! Harry, I don’t understand where all this is coming from. Why are you so convinced that I’m going to hate you for this? You had no control over it. It was just a dream; just a manifestation of subconscious desires. Am I really that bad that you think I would be angry over something like that?” He kissed Harry lightly but passionately on the mouth, although the kiss was quite restrained, like he was afraid that Harry might break under too much pressure.

That extraordinary and unexpected display of kindness and understanding, which really he realized that he ought to have expected anyway, was enough to destroy Harry completely, and his tears came fresh and renewed as he fell into Louis’ arms, his legs giving way beneath him so that Louis had to catch him and support him to prevent him from keeling over on the kitchen floor and bashing his head on the tiles.

“Okay,” Louis said quickly. “Okay.”

They ended up in the living room, although to Harry’s relief Louis didn’t attempt to sit on the sofa where, in Harry’s dream, he’d cried out so horrifically. Instead, Louis pulled Harry down onto his lap and they sat together on the armchair, Harry resting his head on Louis while Louis slowly stroked his hair and whispered under his breath to him, murmuring in his ear while the words were lost in curls and hitched breaths. Struggling to regain his composure, Harry lay helplessly on top of Louis while Louis slowly caressed his face and touched his hair, and slowly Harry started becoming a little more coherent again.

Only then Louis realized with a pang that he really, really needed to know what had upset Harry so much, and that in a few seconds he was going to have to bring it all up again and destroy the calm that he’d been working on restoring for a good ten minutes.

“Harry, love,” he said softly. “I’m sorry. But please – just tell me what’s going on? Just tell me, and I’ll make it better, I swear. I’ll do everything I can.”

A shaky laugh bubbled on Harry’s lips and broke out before he could stop it. “What could _you_ do?” he asked, and then blushed when he realized how awful that had sounded. “I – I didn’t mean –” he began, clearly flustered.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter!” Louis waved it away almost impatiently. “Please, Harry. _Please._ ”

In floods of tears, Harry hiccupped his way through the whole explanation of his horrific dream, nearly losing his sanity completely when he reached the part where Louis had started screaming and had fallen to the ground writhing in agony, and where Harry had been unable to do anything other than look on while inside of Louis, the place which should have been safe, their baby died right in front of him. Once Harry had choked out every last bit of his story, Louis held him tightly as if he himself was struggling not to cry.

“It doesn’t really happen like that, you know,” he said softly, stroking Harry’s hair. “Any pain would be minimal – just a bit of discomfort, like a stomach ache. And there wouldn’t be that much blood.”

“I know,” Harry whispered, even though he hadn’t; miscarriages weren’t something he was familiar with, understandably. “It just felt so _real._ ”He fiercely rubbed his eyes to try and disperse some of the dampness still leaking through his eyelashes.

“Harry, it’s okay to grieve. It’s understandable that you feel like this.”

“She wasn’t real!” Harry snapped.

Louis’ expression softened even more; he was unruffled by Harry’s anger. Pain made people lash out; he knew that better than a lot of people. “She was real to you,” he gently reminded him.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed wearily, leaning his head on Louis’ shoulder so that his curls lightly tickled Louis’ neck. “Yeah.”

“You look exhausted.” Tracing the dark purple circles under Harry’s sad green eyes, Louis gazed worriedly at him. “You should get some rest.”

“I am s _o_ tired,” Harry admitted, “but I don’t want to go to sleep in case the dream comes back again. I couldn’t live through that again.” As if waking up to find that the child he thought was safely growing inside Louis, _their_ child, was gone, wasn’t bad enough – having to watch both it and Louis violently die had been nothing short of horrific.

“Do you want me to come with you?” offered Louis. “I can keep you awake.”

“You promise you won’t let me fall asleep?”

“I’ll pinch you if you even start _thinking_ about it,” Louis promised.

Harry nodded tiredly. “If you don’t mind.”

~*~

The duvet was pulled well over Harry’s head, and he lay curled up and facing away from Louis with his knees tucked into his chest and his eyes closed, eyelashes resting lightly on still flushed cheeks, the odd diamond teardrop still resting in his curly black lashes. Behind him, Louis was wrapped around him, his body curled around Harry’s and one arm draped carefully over him, holding him close. Harry’s breathing was slow and even, but every now and then he caught his breath or flinched, like he’d only just remembered why he was lying in bed with Louis in the middle of the day, and Louis’ grip on him would tighten in response.

Harry’s eyes had been wide open, unblinking and fixed on a blank part of the wall before, like he was scared to even close his eyes for a moment, but eventually they had slowly drooped closed and now he was hovering on the very edges of sleep; it was willpower alone that kept him from sliding into unconsciousness and losing himself to dreams.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go to sleep?” Louis whispered, and he ran his fingers carefully down Harry’s arm as a reminder that he was there.

“Positive. If I sleep, I might go back to where I was. I might see things I don’t want to see. I can’t go to sleep, Louis – I just can’t.”

“Okay, okay…” Louis sighed. “I wish there was something I could do to help you, Harry.”

“What you’re doing right now is more than enough.” Harry absentmindedly reached out to touch Louis’ stomach – something which his mind had convinced him was a routine gesture – and then flinched as he felt flat and taut skin underneath his fingers.

Louis felt him cringe, and instantly his whole face crumpled without his permission as he realized that the mere lack of a child growing inside of him had hurt Harry so badly – the simplest of touches had crucified him.

“Sorry,” Harry whispered automatically, “sorry, that was –”

“Completely understandable,” Louis interrupted, his tone gentle. He paused and licked his lips uncertainly, his eyes fixed on the tiny, wispy little curls that gathered right on the back of Harry’s neck – insubstantial little hairs that formed tight ringlets on his skin. “How can I make this better, Harry? Do you want me to…” Feeling incredibly stupid, Louis bit his lip hard and forced out, “do you need to pretend? Just for a little while? Because I can do that if you need me to.”

A snort burst out of Harry and he didn’t even try to stop it. “You mean shoving a pillow up your shirt?”

Louis felt his cheeks catch fire and begin to burn. “No!” he insisted hotly. “I mean…like a prosthetic baby bump. Or something. If you needed to pretend, just for a few weeks…I don’t mind doing that for you, Harry.”

Rolling over to face him, Harry touched the tips of their noses together. “You would do that?” His voice trembled a little; that painfully sweet offer had struck an odd, painful chord within him and now there was a melancholy echo tolling somewhere in the pit of his stomach and radiating up through his chest. “People would think it was weird. They’d –”

“Let them laugh,” Louis told him simply. “I’ve never bothered about what people say about me, Harry. I asked one of the most unpopular guys at school to the school disco when I was thirteen. He turned me down, but that’s an entirely different story. I liked him, so I asked him out. They would have laughed at me if I took him to the dance. They laughed even more when he rejected me. Honestly, I couldn’t have cared less.”

“Louis, if you walk down the road with a fake baby bump poking out from underneath your shirt, they won’t just _laugh._ They’ll kick your head in!”

“I could just wear it in the house, if you like. All I’m trying to say, Harry, is that if you wanted me to be pregnant, I would do that for you – if you wanted to pretend…I don’t mind. I know how much that dream must have meant to you.”

The offer touched Harry to the core; he felt a little pang when he saw the sincerity in Louis’ eyes, and a ball of warmth started gathering in his stomach at the very thought of it. Coming home to find Louis with a cheerful expression and his shirt straining over his stomach, grinning at Harry and patting the bump. Struggling to fit into the small spaces he would normally have slid through. Laughing as he stuck out his stomach and allowed Harry to feel it. Even the consideration of his dreams becoming reality made Harry smile. He could pretend – he could come home and lose himself to a world where Louis had their child safely inside him, and Harry could pretend that it was all real and ignore the unkindness of the real world.

But when he thought about it, he knew that deep inside him he would never be satisfied. He would always know that it was fake. Worst of all; his dream had come in flashes, different stages of Louis’ pregnancy progressing all the way to the horrible and bitter end, but by far the most beautiful part of it had been when Louis, with his stomach bulging and his eyes delighted, had thrown Harry down onto the bed and made love to him, and as Louis carefully slid inside him, every movement of his hips had caused Harry’s stomach to collide with Louis’, and as they both cried out in a pleasure so intense it was a few shades away from pain – and crossed the boundary several times when Louis thrust too hard or too deep – he felt their baby happily kicking around inside of Louis, and every pound of its little feet battered on Harry’s stomach. It was the most sensual and perfect moment Harry had ever experienced – and he would get over it, because it wasn’t real, but strapping a pretend baby bump onto Louis’ abdomen and making believe that they had a child on the way would be nothing compared to _that._ He would rather have a memory than a mockery. His dream was a beautiful delusion, and he would get over it soon enough.

“Thank you,” he murmured softly, cupping Louis’ cheek with one hand, “but no. I think dreams should stay dreams, in this case at least. I love you, and I don’t need a pretend baby to make me happy with this relationship. All I need is for us to be together.”

“I can give you that,” Louis promised, and he shook his head and smiled as he stroked Harry’s hair and watched his pupils dilate longingly at the sensation of his fingers brushing through silken curls. “If there’s one thing I _can_ give you, it’s that.”

“Good,” Harry answered, and his next smile was genuine as he felt long fingers twitching through curl after curl and tugging lightly on the roots of his hair. “Now let’s…let’s lie here for a while.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” answered Louis, and he tugged Harry closer to him, wrapping his legs around Harry’s waist and nudging Harry’s mouth open with his own. Heat spread between their joined lips as the first of many kisses began. It had been intended as a gentle movement, a comforting one, but before all too long they were breathing heavily, frantic little gaps that blended together as their mouths moved together, and Harry grabbed Louis face and clung to him to kiss him harder, almost violently. He closed his eyes, which were aching, and focused on the feelings running through him like an electric current instead. After a moment or so, Louis rolled over on top of him and started caressing Harry’s neck with his mouth, quick little friendly nips that made strange noises explode out of the younger boy’s mouth.

“Ah…Louis…” Harry groaned and grabbed two handfuls of Louis’ hair and Louis began tearing at both of their clothes and he pulled Harry’s baggy grey t-shirt over his head and cast it onto the floor, and their bare bodies joined and sparks danced between them and toes started curling and mouths making marks on skin as their hips rocked in unison –

And then Harry pulled the duvet over their heads and they hid from reality for a while, reliving the parts of Harry’s dream that didn’t have to be completely fictional.


	10. Chapter 10

“You silly cow!”

“Don’t call me a cow!” Micheline spat. “You worthless –” her voice rose to a strangled shriek as she hissed insults with almost frightening intensity, and Harry blinked in shock as he realized that he’d just walked straight into the middle of a domestic. It frightened him; he’d never fought with Louis like that before and it shocked him to discover that couples _could_ scream at each other like that. Oh, of course he _knew_ that people fought, and bitterly, but he’d never realized that it could become _that_ bad.

“If I’m so worthless, maybe I should leave,” sneered Rupe. “See how you like _that._ You’d never cope without me. You’ve got no friends around here; nobody likes you. You’ve got no job, no qualifications. You’re useless.”

The words shocked Harry; he could only imagine how they would sting right to the core, how Micheline would inwardly recoil at the nastiness and how something inside of her would wrench away from the rest and start drifting in shock at the pure malice behind the vicious taunts. But she didn’t even flinch. In fact, if anything she seemed excited by the sudden onslaught of cruelty; her voice reached a frightening volume as she started screeching back at him, more words that, from Louis’ tongue, would have destroyed Harry completely. He could hardly imagine how it would feel to see Louis’ beautiful face contorted with such horrible anger, to hear him shouting awful things like that and tainting the air with the harsh sounds of them.

“Yeah, I’m useless. But at least I’ll admit it! You need someone telling you every single day how wonderful you are, how funny and intelligent and hot – you’re nothing without someone to keep constantly inflating your massive ego!” Micheline snarled. “You’re too scared to do anything without me hanging around telling you the sun shines out of your arse!”

Eyes wide, Harry stared helplessly at the wide-open front door he’d just wandered straight in through, wondering whether he should turn around and run straight out. Micheline had texted him and asked him to come for Alice, but either this argument had blown up out of nowhere in the ten minutes it had taken him to walk down the hill, or she’d decided to get him to come blundering right into the middle of it just to annoy Rupe. The latter seemed to be likelier; the man seemed to be reserving a special place in hell for he and Louis, for reasons which were unknown to them but probably something to do with the way that whenever one or the other of them came round, Micheline’s clothes always seemed to be tight enough to cut off her circulation or so loose that she was practically falling out of them. Not that Harry or Louis could control that; in Louis’ case, if he’d had any say in the matter Micheline would be bound into a modesty tent twenty-four hours a day, but Rupert seemed inclined to blame them anyway.

Typically, as if some kind of intuition had tipped him off that Harry was thinking about just that, Rupe exploded “At least I don’t show myself up by stripping off in front of two guys who care about your body even less than every other man in the world!”

Through gritted teeth, Micheline ordered, “Shut up.”

_Yes,_ Harry thought, _please do, or else I’m going to end up hating you and you’ll realize I heard every word of this and it’s going to get a bit awkward._

“They won’t fancy you no matter how many items of clothing you take off, you do realize that? They’re far too busy getting loved up with each other to notice that you’re parading around in your knickers. What part of them being gay do you not seem to understand? Oh, and that camp one with the stupid jumpers hates your guts. You only have to give him one quick glance to see how much he hates you.”

_Whoops,_ Harry thought. _Looks like_ someone _noticed, then._ He resolved to warn Louis to stop glowering so viciously at the blue-haired girl next time they both paid her a visit – not that he could really blame him. He often felt tempted to glare at Micheline himself.

“You shut up!” she cried, her tone coloured with the first tinges of the hysteria that Harry would have broken down in the moment Louis raised his voice. “Just because you’re jealous that I have friends who help me instead of sitting round drinking beer with me in a pub and calling me a ginger wanker behind my back!”

Frozen, Harry hesitated one more split-second, peeking through the gap between the door and doorframe into the kitchen – and he stuck his eye to the gap just in time to see Rupert to raise his long-fingered hand and, with an expression of pure fury, abruptly slap Micheline hard across the face, the noise echoing through the kitchen. To Harry, it was louder than any of the shouting; the ugly sound of the impact as the man hit the girl he was supposed to love, the girl who seemed so much smaller and more fragile than he was, leaving a bright red handprint tattooed across her face.

She gawped at him, one trembling hand raising to cup her cheek – and then anger began pinching at the corner of her eyes and before long her pale cheeks were tinged flaming red, as if someone had set a match to her face, and the flames of outrage crept across her expresssion, sparking violently in her grey eyes. Rupe seemed almost afraid of himself, staring at the hand which had left its imprint on his girlfriend’s pale face – so he didn’t have time to duck as she swiped viciously at his cheek in return, backhanding him just as hard, with the sound of skin hitting skin that echoed around the whole kitchen.

The screaming apparently hadn’t bothered Alice in the slightest, but the sound of that second, angry slap woke her, and suddenly it was the sound of the baby’s cries filling the kitchen rather than the loud voices of her parents.

Harry decided right then that he’d better intervene, and he started banging loudly on the front door, yelling “Hey guys, it’s only me! I’ve come for Alice, if you still want me to take her!” His heart was hammering as he deliberately stumbled on his way in so as to make as much noise as possible – not that they’d notice anything different; he’d always been laughably clumsy – and then he was shoving the kitchen door and bursting it, afraid to come between them but knowing he couldn’t leave Alice with these two screeching maniacs.

Rupe and Micheline were stood glowering at each other; Rupe’s fists rapidly clenched and unclenched as he fought the impulse to hit his girlfriend again, and Micheline’s lip was curling upwards in a nasty smirk with the knowledge that in front of Harry, he could do nothing. Licking his lips anxiously, Harry forced a smile onto his face. He swallowed very hard at the sight of Micheline’s face; it had flooded with colour, but the big handprint was still livid, an even brighter red than the rest of her cheek.

“Hey, Harry,” she said brightly, and he was almost taken aback by how friendly she was bearing in mind that usually she snapped at him like a wolf, like she was trying to take a bite out of him. But then he saw her smirk at Rupe, saw the other man’s expression tighten in response, and uneasily realized that he was in the middle of a power play. Micheline was using him to get to her boyfriend, and Harry had no desire at all to be caught up in this argument. His answering smile was tentative and small. He could only hope that Rupe wouldn’t start flirting with him as well.

“All right?” said Rupe gruffly, stiffly inclining his head in an unfriendly nod. It seemed to take a lot of effort for him to even do that, so Harry forced himself to smile in response and give an exceedingly awkward little wave that he regretted the instant he realized his hand was moving.

“Yeah, I’m good, thanks.” Alice was crying even more persistently now, and for the first time ever Harry was glad to hear her shrieks; it gave him something to do, somewhere else to look rather than at the angry man and the girl who was taunting him right underneath his nose, and using Harry to do it. Hurrying over to where she lay on the kitchen table, frantically kicking her legs (he spared a moment of horror at how unsafe she was, as if she had been dumped there; one good wriggle and she could have fallen straight off) he quickly picked her up and brought her defensively against his chest, unable to completely smother the onslaught of paternal feelings he felt towards the child.

The moment he had hold of her, Alice’s wails immediately began to subside; before very long, she was resting her head on his shoulder and only uttering the merest of whimpers against his neck. Harry squeezed her reassuringly, and watched Rupe’s jaw flex. He was bewildered. Rupe had never shown any kind of protective instinct towards Alice before – why should he start now? That was when Harry began to wonder whether it was simply because he didn’t like the way Alice so blatantly preferred Harry and Louis to her parents, and he felt a little guilty. The theory wasn’t exactly disproved when Alice burbled “Ha-ee!” and Rupe’s slight frown turned into a full blown scowl. Smiling uncomfortably, Harry rubbed Alice on the back.

“I’ll take her.”

They all flinched at the sound of Rupe’s voice; Alice gave a little sob, as if the sound of her own father speaking had frightened her. Micheline looked a little scared, too; her smug arrogance was beginning to fade and be replaced with panic over what he would do when Harry left. As for Harry, his stomach was clenching at the very sound of the barely restrained rage fluttering behind the words.

“I’ll take her!” Rupe repeated impatiently, holding out his hands as if to take Alice.

For a moment or so, Harry hesitated, and Alice clung to him; her arms were tight around his neck and she had a handful of his shirt clenched desperately between the fingers of her left hand. He was loathe to pass her over to the irate man who was facing him, especially baring in mind Alice’s reluctance, but truthfully he was a little afraid of how Rupe might react if he didn’t.

Losing his temper, Rupe exclaimed “Give her to me!” and he snatched Alice out of Harry’s arms, yanking her roughly away and clumsily attempting to support her. In response, Alice squeaked in helpless outrage and started flailing around, waving her arms in protest. Harry felt his stomach lurch and he wrapped his arms around himself as he fought to stifle the urge to make a grab for the baby and take her back again – and then run away. He backed away, biting his lip and staring at the floor so he wouldn’t be tempted to glare.

Micheline spared a slightly regretful glance at Harry, and then, miraculously, seemed almost _worried_ for her baby, blinking several times at the sight of Rupe’s incredibly nervous and inexperienced hold.

“Let me take her?” she asked pleadingly.

“She’s my baby,” came Rupe’s faint response.

“Yeah, but she’s mine too. You’re scaring her.” Micheline’s voice had turned soft and pleading, like she’d finally remembered that Alice was there. “Roo. Please.”

The sound of the ridiculous adaptation of his nickname seemed to shock Rupe back into his senses; shaking his head, he sheepishly deposited Alice back into her mother’s comparatively safe arms and then backed off a little, looking almost embarrassed. Harry felt some of the knots in his stomach loosen a little – Micheline wasn’t the best of mothers, but she was far better than her boyfriend, who had been in serious danger of dropping the baby on her head.

“You can go home now,” Rupe coolly told Harry. “We don’t need you any more.”

“B-but…Micheline called me over to look after Alice.”

“Yeah. But she’s changed her mind, we’re fine here.”

Micheline seemed to take pity on Harry; she promised quietly “I’ll call you tomorrow, yeah? Let you know if you need to come round?”

“Okay then,” Harry replied faintly. “Okay.”

He felt Alice’s wide, accusing eyes fixed on him and burning into the back of his head as he turned around and worriedly headed out of the kitchen, trying not to make it obvious how afraid he was for both the little girl and the older one – even Micheline seemed to be on edge now as she watched him leave, and Harry felt inexplicably guilty.

~*~

“And then he slapped her! Right across the face!” Harry’s tone was coloured with both indignation and disgust and he felt his outrage stirring back up again somewhere in his stomach.

“Really? Oh my God. Those two disgust me; they really do. I don’t know how you can stand to see them every single day, I really don’t. You’re amazing.”

Louis was sat at the far end of the sofa while Harry’s long body took up the rest of it; he was sprawled comfortably across the upholstery with his head resting on Louis’ lap and his feet dangling off the end of the sofa, looking up at Louis, who was comfortingly stroking his hair, carefully running his fingers through the tangle of curls. They both gained consolation from the gesture; Harry was struggling to keep his eyes open and his voice steady past the waves of pleasure pulsing through him with every gentle tug on his curls, and Louis was enjoying the sensation of chocolate brown hair sliding like water through his slender fingers.

“Thanks.” Harry closed his eyes and grinned. “I _am_ amazing.” He sighed heavily. “On a serious note, though, I’m worried about Alice. They literally dumped her on the kitchen table while they were busy punching each other in the face!”

Making a soft noise to try to placate him, Louis massaged a deeply buried spot through the mess of curls. “You worry too much, babe. I’m sure she’ll be all right.” He smiled wistfully. “You’re so good with her, though. Micheline’s lucky to have you for her babysitter.”

Harry reached up to touch Louis on one cheek in appreciation of the kindness, and they both sighed at the shared contact. In response, Louis kneaded Harry’s curls with more enthusiasm; Harry wriggled and made a couple of satisfied noises, pushing his head up into Louis’ expert hands and marvelling at just how well Louis knew him, just how skilled he was and how he could reduce Harry to a semi-incoherent mess with only a few seconds at his disposal, merely by twisting his fingers into his hair and giving a couple of gentle pulls in the right places.

“Mmm…” The noise Harry made could only be described as a purr, and Louis laughed delightedly at both his expression and the sounds helplessly coming out of his mouth. “Oh, God, stop distracting me. Where was I?”

“Rupe was demonstrating his excellent right hook,” Louis murmured, “but I’m not sure I ought to be discussing this with you; you’re looking all stressed. It’s not good for you, you know. This whole move was supposed to be about making you calmer. You haven’t had any more of your panic attacks lately, have you?” He kept his tone light, but there was underlying worry in his tone.

“Sometimes I think you’re more like my mother than my fiance. But no, since you asked, I haven’t had any trouble since the…dream.” He swallowed bravely and attempted a smile, but it twisted horribly and he had to abandon his help. His voice had fractured and sounded oddly distorted as he continued “it’s been good, spending some time together…I know this might sound awful, but I’m kind of enjoying you being jobless. Means we get to be…” He trailed his fingers down Louis’ arm with a smile. “You know. Us.”

“I suppose so.” But that thought had Louis chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip.

“Oh, dear. I don’t like that face. You’re starting to get anxious now; when you’re anxious it makes _me_ anxious. Come on.” He rolled over onto his stomach and pulled himself onto Louis’ lap, and then pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth in a quick, soft kiss.

Sighing, Louis said “Sorry. I just worry about these things, you know?”

“I suppose someone has to. But in all honesty I’d rather you forget about all that stuff for a while. How about you just remember that you’re mine, instead? And I’m yours…sometimes I think you forget that too often. Would you like me to make you remember?” Louis shivered as Harry’s teeth grazed his earlobe.  

“Sex maniac. We’re having a conversation.”

“We could have sex _and_ have a conversation,” Harry suggested, only half joking.

Louis laughed at him. “I don’t think ‘ _ohhh, Louis!’_ and ‘ _yeah, like that – there!’_ really counts as a conversation. Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that the gist of what sort of chatter usually goes on in those kind of situations?”

Blushing at the startlingly accurate imitation, Harry pulled a face at him. “Whatever. Just because I tend to have other things on my mind while we –”

The sound of a ringing phone cut him off, and Louis held up one finger to pause Harry’s sentence. “Hold that thought,” he said, and playfully tapped Harry on the lips.

Disgruntled, Harry reached for Louis’ phone where it lay on the table and placed it into his hand.

“Thanks, babe,” said Louis, kissing Harry on the forehead as he answered the call. “Hello?”

“If it’s Niall, tell him we’re fucking,” Harry mumbled, and Louis lightly swatted him on the arm as a reprimand for his language. “Zayn, ditto. Liam might die from the shock, or start preaching his disapproval of sex before marriage, so tell him we’re cooking and the mini-quiches are about to burn. If it’s your mother, say something polite because she doesn’t like me. If it’s mine…” He contemplated. “Tell her we’re fucking. But use a different word. ‘ _Passionately making love’_ , or something like that.”

Louis laughed and smacked him. “Shut up! You’re terrible. Now go away, I’m on the phone.” He returned his attention to the call. “Yeah, sorry about that. Mmm hmmm. Speaking.”

There was a long pause filled only by Harry idly playing with the fingers of Louis’ free hand and the low buzz that was all he could hear of the stranger’s voice on the other end. Listening attentively, Louis was silent, and Harry used the opportunity to position himself more comfortably on Louis’ chest.

“Who _is_ it, Lou?” he grumbled after a few more moments.

Shushing him, Louis grimaced and then responded “Okay. Mm. Yeah.” His expression changed rapidly, from polite attentiveness to disappointment to a combination of frustration and regret as he slumped defeatedly against the sofa. “Oh. All right, then. No, it’s no problem; thanks for letting me know. Yeah. Cheers, man. I appreciate it. Okay. Yeah. ‘Kay bye.” He quickly hung up and then wearily allowed the phone to drop to the ground with a groan.

Harry turned his head to look at him. “Bad news?”

“About as bad as it gets. They gave my job to someone else. Some frilly flouncy twat called Phillip who sounds ten times gayer than I am and probably wears a pink shirt with ruffles and diamond cufflinks, has a barrister for a father and probably bought his psychology degree from Frauds ‘R Us,” Louis said bitterly.

“Oh, Louis.” Harry rearranged himself and his position on the sofa, and all of a sudden Louis was sitting on _his_ lap, and he was holding him comfortingly and stroking his back to try and soothe the sting of being both turned down and out-gayed. “I thought you had that job nailed!”

“So did I. I _walked_ that interview, Harry, I know I did!” Louis exploded furiously, “but that poncy fool got his daddy to buy him a job and the rest is history, even though he’ll probably get bored after a week and start _paying_ his clients to pretend they don’t have problems!”

“They’ve made the biggest mistake of their lives choosing that guy over you,” soothed Harry, “you’re an amazing psychiatrist; they’ll regret it for the rest of their lives. You deserved that job way more than _Phillip._ ” His low voice gave just the right mocking edge to the name, making it sound like the ridiculous thing he’d ever had the misfortune of hearing, which Louis found extremely comforting. “That guy will never do anyone any good. You could mend anyone.”

“You really think so?” Louis asked in a very small voice, blinking at Harry because he had to admit, it was nice to have the clarification.

Harry brushed a kiss onto his forehead. “You fixed _me_ , didn’t you?”

“You weren’t broken,” mumbled Louis, but he felt an awful lot better.

A wry smile twisted Harry’s lips. “Well, we both know _that’s_ not true. Of course I was broken, Boo. I was broken and screwed up into a little ball and stamped on. And you’ve done everything in your power to save me and I know you’d do the same for any one of your patients, although hopefully you won’t make a habit of falling in love with every single one of them. That’s kind of something I’d prefer to reserve exclusively for me.”

“Don’t worry. I have absolutely no intention of falling love with anyone else,” Louis promised.

Harry smiled. “Good.”

For a while they allowed those words to linger in the air, and Harry smiled at the mere sound of them, just the thought that they belonged to each other, and there it was, a verbal contract that nobody else could have the same part of Louis that he had. Nobody else ever had, and nobody else ever would. He loved the thought.

It was a very enjoyable mutual silence, but Louis reluctantly broke it. “I was relying on that job, Harry. We were struggling to get by as it was. But with a drop in our income that’s quite this big…” He nibbled his lip. “How are we going to cope?”

After a moment’s consideration, Harry decided “We’ll budget. I hate to break it to you, Lou, but we may have to reduce both the quality and quantity of our haircare products. You’re going to have to swap from L’Oreal to ASDA’s own brand shampoo.” He couldn’t hide the amusement in his voice.

Smacking him, Louis scolded “This is serious! Forget cutting down on shampoo; we’re going to have to start cutting down on _food_ at this rate. How much does Micheline give you for babysitting a week, again?”

“A hundred and thirty.”

“A hundred and thirty!” Louis scoffed. “That’s nothing. That’s peanuts. That’s how much it costs to so much as _look_ at a packet of peanuts.”

“You’re absolutely right. Peanut-viewing prices have escalated ridiculously lately,” Harry said dryly. “I do think you may be exaggerating ever so slightly.”

“Do you think they’d give me my job back at Stonehaven if I abandoned all attempts at dignity and flat-out _begged_? I get the impression that a lot of the guys there would like to see me on my knees.” He chuckled darkly, but there was no humour behind it.

Harry scowled. “Tell them you’re mine, and that’s not your field of expertise. And I think that’s a terrible idea. You’ve hated your job there ever since Liam got relocated; I really don’t want to watch you try to settle back into doing something you can’t stand just because of money. We’ll manage somehow, Lou.”

“You can’t just keep saying that, you know. You have to think of a way. Just saying we’ll be all right isn’t enough. We need to do something about it. There has to be some way of fixing this whole stupid situation…”

Pulling him close, Harry promised “I’ll work on it. I’m not completely useless, you know.”

“I know you’re not.” Frustration pulled its way out of Louis in a sigh. “I’m just sick of this. We’re living our dream life, but there’s still holes in it, and it all comes down to money. It’s so _stupid_!” He thumped his fist on the sofa.

“ _Life_ is stupid.” Harry kissed him. Then again, to make a point. And then once more, just because he could. “You just have to work around the bad parts and turn them into good. For example: bad parts; we have limited amounts of money and today neither of us have jobs. Good parts; we get to spend the day together. And partake in completely free activities.” He allowed the bait to settle for a while.

Louis paused. “Reference previous comment about your mania for all things sex-related. There would appear to be some kind of underlying issue here where you have recognized the link between your release of sexual tension and your release of stress and therefore you attempt to solve every single problem you encounter by having sex.”

Harry wriggled delightedly, an enormous smile creeping across his face as he discreetly adjusted his trousers.“Oh, I love it when you break out the psychological banter. It’s kind of like dirty talk, only sexier. Anyway, there’s a flawless logic behind it. Sex solves all problems.”

“Except STDs.”

“Well. Except for that,” Harry agreed. “But I don’t have an STD. Do _you_ have an STD?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

“Exactly,” Harry said. “Therefore, sex will solve all our problems. Let’s do it.”

His lips came down hard on Louis’, silencing any protests he might have had, and all of a sudden Louis was in no position to argue with him.


	11. Chapter 11

As was becoming increasingly frequent, Louis came storming through the front door floating on a cloud of foul temper and negativity influenced by the apparent lack of job opportunities for an incredibly proficient but very young psychiatrist, and the suddent disappearance of any available positions every time he chased after them.

Harry was quickly becoming used to dealing with these moods; almost before the front door had slammed the younger boy was putting the kettle on and readying himself to make a steaming mug of Yorkshire tea to force down his throat while he pulled Louis onto the sofa and offered either condolences or a supportive explosion of angry comments directed at the potential employers who had turned Louis down, depending on whether Louis’ mood was leaning more towards gloom or rage. He could be soothing or he could be infuriated; whichever Louis needed him to be, that was what he became.

Particularly angry, Louis kicked off his shoes and sat at the foot of the stairs with a scowl, not even bothering to summon up the energy to walk through to the kitchen and start complaining. That was the first indication that something was wrong, and Harry nodded quietly to himself as he left the kettle to boil of its own accord, a teabag waiting patiently in the mug, and he headed through to the hall and took a seat beside Louis, who had his chin resting in his hands and was scowling darkly at the front door with a thunderous expression on his face and a clear aura of rage emanating from him; he sat stiffly and glowered at the door, then the ceiling – and he didn’t react at all to Harry’s presence, even when Harry placed a comforting hand on his leg and soothingly squeezed his knee in an attempt to break through the thick shell of foul temper that had surrounded him.

“There’ll be other jobs, Lou,” he said placatingly.

Louis’ scowl only deepened, becoming a deep furrow in his forehead. “You always say that.”

“That’s because I believe it. A job likes yours would never be easy to find, but I’ve never known anyone better at it than you. You’ll find something.” He hesitated, nibbling his lip. “I never told you, but before I came to Stonehaven, back at the young offender’s institute, they brought me to another psychiatrist – an old one with no hair and glasses and awful teeth, and he sat me down, offered me polo mints and talked to me for an hour every day for three weeks. It did me no good whatsoever and I’m pretty sure I was more of a mess after he’d finished trying to deal with me than when he started. He told me what I ought to think and looked at me funny when I didn’t see things that way.” Harry sighed. “My point is, you’re a damn good psychiatrist and you’re going to find another job, Louis; I know it.” He took Louis by the hand and squeezed it.

“But you don’t, do you? You _say_ you know it, but you don’t. You don’t have any idea. I appreciate your optimism, Harry, but please, just leave it. I can’t deal with it right now.”

For a while they kept up a mutually agreed silence, and Harry contented himself with holding Louis’ hand in what he hoped was a supportive manner, and stayed silent. The frown stayed stubbornly on Louis’ forehead, and Harry watched him worriedly, wishing he could wipe it off. Under normal circumstances, he might have tried to kiss the expression away, or maybe pressed his lips to the corner of his mouth, but he didn’t quite dare. Not with the mood Louis was in. Anger was an emotion Harry was very familiar with; he understood how infuriating it was when you were stuck in your own little bubble of irritation and somebody came blundering in and popped it – all that fury and impatience came crashing uncontrollably down around you; things were said that perhaps should have been, and couldn’t be unsaid, and people lashed angrily out. He had no desire to make Louis angry with him; they’d only argued once, and it had been horrible. Harry didn’t want to relive that _particular_ low point in his life any more than he wanted to see Louis in such a bad mood. He was stuck.

Still, he couldn’t just _sit_ there and watch Louis wallowing in self-pity and annoyance, so he interjected softly “Don’t take it to heart, babe. Everyone wants jobs and they’re fighting each other off with their bare hands. Please don’t take it personally. It’s not about you.” He rubbed Louis on the back.

Sharply, Louis snapped “Of course it’s about me! Who else would it be about? I’m the one who’s being interviewed. I’m the one who they don’t think is good enough. Honestly, you do say some stupid things sometimes, Harry!” He shook Harry’s hand off his shoulder and edged away.

Well that stung, and he wasn’t about to pretend otherwise. He felt hurt flicker across his face and thought he saw a pang of regret flash in Louis’ eyes in response, but no apology came bouncing back, and Louis didn’t move closer to him again. In fact, if anything, he seemed to become more distant, turning away so he didn’t have to see Harry’s pained expression.

“Sorry,” he said, and he wished his voice wouldn’t crack so pathetically.

“You keep trying to make me feel better, but I just want you to leave me alone. I really want to be myself right now, Harry.”

“I don’t like knowing that you’re upset.”

“I’m not upset!”

Harry responded to that particularly stupid statement with a long, deeply sceptical look which said _Don’t insult my intelligence._

With a heavy sigh, Louis corrected irritably “I’m not upset, I’m annoyed. There’s a difference.”

He got to his feet, turned around, and stalked upstairs without another word, leaving Harry on his own feeling rather sorry for himself but ten times sorrier for Louis.

The kettle had boiled long since; Harry boiled it again and made himself a cup of tea because it seemed like Louis didn’t want one. This was one problem that apparently had exceeded the calming and restorative properties of tea. He sat at the kitchen table and drank it all, burning his throat, and once he’d done that he picked up the phone and gave Niall a ring. It proved to be a slightly inconvenient time; Niall was cheerful and perfectly polite as usual, but he was struggling to keep his voice steady, his breathing was laboured and heavy, and he kept taking short breaks from the conversation while rather suspicious noises went on in the background, and Harry caught on rather quickly that Niall and Zayn were rather busy (and apparently in ringing them he had just become an accessory in some kind of sex game they were playing) so he stuttered his apologies and made a couple of excuses, and quickly hung up with the sound of Niall’s stuttering laughter still ringing in his ears – apparently it was amusing to involve an innocent Harry in he and Zayn’s idea of fun. Bemusement had his lips twitching upwards into an odd smile, and he was about to go and find Louis to tell him, before he remembered that he’d only rung Niall in the first place for something to do while he left Louis to let off some steam, so he shook his head and rang his mother instead.

She was delighted to hear from him, and he was surprised to realize he’d missed the sound of her voice, her motherly humour, the way she loved to talk to him about anything and would laugh at all of his daft jokes like they were the funniest thing she’d ever heard. There came a slight moment of awkwardness when she asked to talk to Louis, and he had to explain that Louis was in a bit of a depressing mood and wouldn’t even speak to _him,_ which worried her – so he ended up giving her the lowdown of how amazing their relationship had been lately, which weirdly ended up in a rather embarrassing conversation about their sexual relationship. It made his ears burn; he could only imagine how hard Louis would have laughed if he could hear this conversation and contemplated going upstairs to share it with him, just to cheer him up. But Louis wasn’t in a humourous kind of mood.

“You are still using protection, aren’t you, Harry?”

“ _Muuuuuum_.” He squirmed at the sheer _wrongness_ of the subject matter; he really didn’t want to talk about his sex life with his mother, no matter how close he was to her, which was very.

“It’s a simple enough question; are you or aren’t you?” She was stern; matter-of fact. She always had been. He liked that about her, but he often hated it too.

Swallowing very hard, bright red in the face, Harry admitted “No.”

There was silence on the end of the phone.

“We were both virgins in the first place, mum. I really don’t think you need to worry about that. That’s the kind of thing for us to keep track of anyway; you don’t have to enquire after that kind of thing. In fact, I’d rather you didn’t.”

“When did you stop?”

“When the time was right.” _When I’d just got him back after he’d been abducted for three months and protection wasn’t very high on my list of priorities._ _When I just needed him close to me – just needed to feel him. When I loved him so much that I didn’t want to hold anything back any more._ Harry smiled softly at the memory and traced a couple of meaningless patterns on his thigh.

“You’re sure it was a sensible decision?”

“Best one I’ve ever made,” Harry answered promptly.

He could almost hear her fondly shaking her head down the phone. “He’s good for you, Harry. I love him to bits; you probably think that’s weird, but I do. Did you know he still rings me up sometimes, just for a chat? He’s so funny. You’re so amazing together; you should hear the way he talks about you. He _adores_ you.”

Harry flushed with unconcealed pleasure. “Really?” Not that he didn’t know that already, but it was nice to hear it, especially when Louis was being a little less than his usual loving self. Not that he resented him for it; everyone has off days. But he liked being told that Louis still loved him, just a tiny reminder that it wasn’t all in his own head, that Louis wasn’t with him for pity.

“Of course! You don’t need me to tell you that, surely? His whole world revolves around you, Harry. Without you, he’d have nothing to live for. He’s told me as much. When you’re not around, he loses a little piece of himself; you should have seen him when you were getting your verdict from the courts. On the floor, screaming.” She tutted lightly. “He’s an incredible guy, Harry. You’re so, _so_ lucky.”

Opening his mouth to agree, Harry felt his expression soften into a smile – but a loud bang and a yell from above caused him to jump out of his skin, and he almost dropped the phone in shock. The sound of loud swearing from above had his eyes flickering anxiously upwards, and he thought he heard Louis leaping up and down as well as he bellowed profanities to the heavens.

His mother’s voice was tinged with faint amusement. “Is that your dearly beloved fiance I hear taking the Lord’s name in vain, dear?”

“I believe it is,” Harry said dryly.

“Then perhaps you’d better go and see to him, because it sounds to me rather like he’s about to bring the ceiling crashing down around your ears. Go on. Deal with him, and call me back when you can, okay? Love you.”

“I love you too,” said Harry softly. It felt strange to say the words to someone who wasn’t Louis, who wasn’t smiling up at him or holding him in his arms or whispering something similar into his ear with a gentle look on his face.

She hung up first, so he wouldn’t have to, and he listened to the low drone of the dialling tone for a while before he put the phone down and sprinted up the stairs to see exactly what Louis had done and what had caused him to start shouting quite so loudly – or rather, what had caused him to explode, what had tipped him over the edge and made all of his building anger release itself quite so suddenly and violently.

It turned out to be something as silly and trivial as walking into the bed while he’d been pacing up and down the room. That stupid, annoying little mistake had pushed Louis over the edge and he was stood, bright red in the face, spitting profanities with angry tears in his eyes and furiously rubbing his knee.

“Whoa, Lou, hey!” Harry darted across the room and threw his arms around Louis, nuzzling his nose into his collarbone. “What did you do? Oh, come on, you’re all right, don’t –”

“No, I’m not all right, Harry! _We’re_ not all right! We’re going to lose everything and it’s not fair!” Louis started crying even harder, his nose running unattractively as he buried his face in Harry’s shoulder and hung onto him with both hands.

“Louis, please…please, don’t,” begged Harry, “that isn’t helping, that won’t solve anything, please don’t…I hate seeing you cry. Louis. _Louis_ …” He rained desperate kisses onto Louis’ cheeks and onto his trembling mouth, but Louis just blindly shoved him away with weak hands.

“No, stop it. You can’t just push our problems away and pretend they don’t exist, Harry! We can’t solve everything with a couple of kisses. That’s your problem; you think everything will be okay as long as we’re together. To some degree, maybe that’s true, but that doesn’t mean we don’t need food, and a house – it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t worry about these things!”

“I _am_ worried, Louis! But there’s no point in taking it out on each other, is there?” cried Harry in frustration. Grabbing Louis by the arms, he yanked him close so that their chests banged together, twining their fingers together, and he looked him right in those deep, cerulean blue eyes. They were swimming with the tears that had stupidly started to fall out of pure frustration more than pain, and Louis turned pink as if he was a little embarrassed by his outburst, but he said nothing. Harry’s hands found his face and held it, and after a few more seconds of eye contact in a warning for Louis to pull himself together, he dipped forward, slid his nose to the left of Louis’, tilted his head and pressed his mouth down on the Louis’, trying to coax some kind of response out of him.

He got one. Unfortunately, it was not the one he had wanted. Louis wrenched away from him, his hands slamming down on Harry’s shoulders and giving him a huge shove, pushing him away in anger. It wasn’t the hardest shove there had ever been, but it was unexpected, and Harry staggered – and then he stood there in shock, mouth hanging open, lips trembling as he clamped them together to hold the tears back. Louis had never raised a hand to him before except in play, (or to snap him out of hysteria), and this was most definitely not playing. For some reason, Louis was determined not to accept his kisses and just drop the subject, and Harry was bewildered by his actions, his eyes wide and beseeching as he swallowed very hard and tried to get past the stunning fact that he had just been pushed away by the man he loved more than anything.

Louis was breathing heavily in and out; as Harry watched, he buried his face in his hands and took a couple more shuddering breaths, making a strange, strangled crying sound. Afraid to comfort him or even to move closer, Harry stayed silent and watched him almost fearfully. Louis had always been flawlessly in control of himself, except in times of extremely awful crises – the last time he’d seen Louis really lose it, it had been whilst faced with the news that they were about to lose each other and have a glass wall between them for what would apparently be the next ten years. Instinctively, Harry reached out to brush his fingertips down one of Louis’ flushed cheeks, but quickly dropped his hand before Louis could push it away.

“Louis –” he said helplessly.

“No.” Shaking his head, Louis pushed past him, and then he was rushing down the stairs, taking them two at a time, and Harry was left standing alone in their bedroom in complete shock.

He chased after him, of course. It was an instinct to run after him, especially when he was so upset; he hated seeing Louis miserable. But he had hesitated just a little too long; by the time he had hurled himself down the stairs and reached the front door that Louis had slammed behind him, the car had already reversed off the drive and sped off into the distance, leaving only muddy tyre tracks and the smell of burning rubber behind them from where Louis had been spectacularly abusing the brakes.

There was a long moment of numb hesitation as Harry stood blinking and trying to understand exactly what had just happened. It took a good few minutes for it to sink in that Louis had just driven off into the night, that he was gone, and once he’d figured that out, he was surprisingly not particularly upset. Just accepting. He calmly sat down on the doorstep, rested his chin in his hands and waited. Louis wouldn’t be gone for long. He would just have gone off to silently fume and before long he would be back, regret in his eyes and apologies on his lips. Patiently, Harry settled down to wait.

 The sun set, sky fading from blue to pinky-orange, and an icy bite settled in the air, nipping at Harry’s bare arms. After a few minutes of shivering, he got up and headed into the house, fetched his and Louis’ duvet, and wrapped it around his shoulders and sat back down again with an expression of calm endurance on his face. Louis was being a little longer than he had expected. In fact, Harry had thought that Louis would have been back hours ago. It had been almost three hours since the car had vanished around the corner, and there was still no sign of his errant fiance. Determined not to get into a state, Harry pulled his phone out of his pocket and calmly told himself to call him. He should have thought of it sooner. Louis always answered his phone, no matter what. It was an in-built reaction, in case Harry needed him, so he would always be there. Smiling fondly, Harry called, and his heart sank into his stomach when he discovered that Louis appeared to have changed his habits, because he _didn’t_ answer.

He was hitting redial for the eighteenth time when he figured out that it was deliberate; Louis was purposefully ignoring him. That stung, but with a sharp intake of breath, he carefully placed his phone on the step and wrapped his arms around his knees with a nod. So it was going to be like _that._ Well, he could play games, if that was what Louis wanted.

After a lot of consideration, Harry had to admit that it appeared that Louis wasn’t playing games. He just wasn’t answering. Harry wasn’t quite sure how to take that.

Eventually, he went back to his waiting game in absence of any better ideas. This was an entirely new situation, but if Louis wished to test him, to examine his endurance, then he would be very surprised. He was strong-willed if nothing else – possibly even stubborn, depending on the kind of mood he was in and the kind of request or challenge that had been put to him. If Louis wanted to see how long he could wait, then they would both be waiting for a very long time.


	12. Chapter 12

Harry felt stiff and sleepy and absolutely frozen by the time he realized that the sun had come up and the birds were singing and there was still no car on the driveway. He’d been awake all night, and in all that time, his phone hadn’t rung, Louis hadn’t returned, and there had been no indication that he was planning to. It was so strange and unexpected that Harry couldn’t quite get his head around it, which was why he was so stunningly calm as he picked up their duvet, put his phone into his pocket and headed back inside. He carefully placed the duvet back onto the bed and made it with an expression of complete detachment, plumping the pillows and smoothing the sheets automatically, as if he wasn’t even there. He plugged his phone in, since the battery was dying, and left it on charge in the bedroom. He put all their clothes into the laundry basket, and then into the washing machine, and set it off at too hot a wash without bothering to separate the darks, whites and colours. As the mechanisms started whirring, he numbly watched Louis’ red trousers start spinning around in the same wash as one of his white t-shirts and realized that he was going to be going around in a pink shirt the next time he put it on. He couldn’t seem to summon up any emotion towards the fact other than indifference.

After that, he went into the cupboard and then the fridge, and used the last of the milk making himself a bowl of cornflakes, which he ate in silence, staring blankly at the opposite wall while the only sound was the hot water switching itself on and the gentle clink of his spoon on the bowl. The cornflakes turned soggy because he was eating them so slowly, but he stopped caring after the first few mushy mouthfuls, because they tasted like cardboard anyway.

He was surprised when he felt something wet roll down his nose, and even more surprised when it splashed onto his spoon and glistened there for a second. Dully, he reached out to investigate, scooped the moisture onto his finger and idly tasted it, and discovered that it tasted salty. The fact that he was silently crying didn’t really register, even though he was suddenly aware of the moisture on his face.

The washing up was one of many mundane tasks to fill the empty hours, and it kept his hands busy, at least. There had been a quickly growing pile of dirty dishes on the sideboard for a while, and he washed them all scrupulously until they sparkled, dried them and put them away, rearranging the cupboard into some form of organization just for something to do. Once he’d finished doing that (and the ironing, and putting all the clothes away, and tidying the house, and sorting all of his and Louis’ CDs into alphabetical order by the last name of the artist and then chronological order of album release dates) he ended up sitting emptily on the sofa and emotionlessly looking out of the window, just waiting.

His breathing was heavy and uncoordinated; he could hear each breath that rasped harshly in and out of his lungs with each rise and fall of his chest. The sound irritated him, so he held his breath for a while, which made his ribs hurt, so he exhaled in a huff. The tears falling thick and fast down his face had only increased, and he didn’t bother even attempting to wipe them away. In the silence, his breaths had started to sound oddly ragged, and whiny, and all of a sudden he figured out that he was whimpering quietly to himself. Annoying. Short of breath, he continued panting and moaning softly for a couple of minutes, arms wrapped around himself, rocking back and forth, feeling incredibly stupid.

The world was slowly spinning, and he had tilted to one side, as if he were stuck on a lopsided fairground ride, turning and turning, unable to stop. His pants became frantic gasps that dragged through his teeth, and he was trembling all over, shaking, unable to stop himself. He waited for cool hands to twine around his fingers, stroke comfortingly down his face, twist in his hair, but the only fingers he felt were his own, raking down his arms in distress as he shuddered.

The first sob shocked him; it ripped from his throat as if someone had reached inside of him and torn it away, and he choked a breath in alarm. Yet all of a sudden, more were coming, and his whole body was racked with them; awful, ugly sounds that he was powerless to lock away. It was as if they’d been safely trapped somewhere deep inside his chest and they were crawling up his throat, hanging on with hooked fingers, and then forcing their way out from between his teeth. He thought he might be sick. Actually, come to think of it, his mouth did taste rather sour.

Clapping a hand over his mouth, Harry closed his eyes and willed the contents of his stomach to stay put. His fingers dug into the sofa, clinging to the material to try and comfort himself, and he moaned softly, a helpless, lonely sound.

_Louis._

His stomach hurt now from the force of not screaming out loud, his throat constricted as he held back his cry with everything he had, determined not to be pathetic, not to be weak. But without Louis, he _was_ weak. Helpless, stupid, alone…and having a panic attack because Louis had walked out and left him and he had no idea where he was or whether he was coming back.

On his feet all of a sudden, Harry buried his face in his hands, took two handfuls of curls and gave a couple of shuddering breaths as he tugged hard on his hair to try and bring himself back to reality. It only half worked. He felt the pain – it hurt so much, in fact, to yank on his sensitive curls that he brought fresh tears to his eyes and they trickled down his face, joining the miniature flood on his neck with the rest – but sense still evaded him, and he was left locked in his own little nightmarish world where he couldn’t quite understand why Louis had gone.

Like a little boy, Harry whimpered again to himself and then bit his lip hard to stop any more similarly pathetic sounds from escaping. He felt so stupid, so lonely, so…inadequate. All he’d wanted to do was to try soothe Louis the way Louis always soothed him when he felt bad. But it had backfired horribly. Clearly that wasn’t what Louis had wanted from him. The question he so badly needed answering was this; what _did_ Louis want from him?

The answer hit him like a ten-tonne lorry driving straight at him at a hundred miles an hour: he _knew_ what Louis wanted. Of course he knew it. He’d guessed ages ago, way back when they had first entered Micheline’s house and Rupe had thrust the baby at Louis and his expression had softened so lovingly and made Harry’s chest ache, and he was left wondering why Louis had never told him how much he adored kids. A part of him had known it ever since Louis had listened so sympathetically to his dream and offered to wear a fake baby bump for him, and he’d wondered why Louis could possibly have been so eager to do something which could get him mocked and laughed at by everyone he met; pretend that they were going to have a child. Now he knew the answer: because Louis wanted it too. Maybe even more badly than Harry did.

He’d berated himself once he realized that Louis wanted kids too, and that they could never have it. Not only because they were both male, but because of their criminal record; who would allow a couple to adopt when one of them was a murderer and the other was a psychologist who had conducted an inappropriate relationship with one of his patients, sneaked around with him behind closed doors and then unashamedly admitted that he’d been with him for months prior to his release, when their relationship actually became legal? No self-respecting social worker would even consider their application. In fact, they’d probably be laughed at. People like them couldn’t have kids; it wasn’t allowed. They’d each sinned one time too many.

Maybe that was why Louis had left him. Maybe Harry had been aggravating him more and more by the day, and he’d finally snapped and walked out, filled with resentment for the reason that he could never have the child he wanted so desperately. Now Harry was alone, and the awful thing was that he was starting to believe that he deserved it.

He’d never understood how someone as incredible as Louis could possibly fall in love with a screw-up like him. Maybe that was why he wasn’t questioning the way that Louis had finally realized what a mess he was and walked out on him.

That didn’t mean it didn’t hurt. Because it hurt like hell. It hurt like the time he’d been cooking and he’d spilt a pan full of hot oil over his foot and ended up lying down and screaming while Louis held his hand and held a tea towel fool of ice against his toes. Like the time he’d cut his own pale wrists with a knife because it ached so much to have Louis mad at him, to think that Louis thought of him as an attention seeker. Like the last time Louis had left him, only ten times worse, because this time it was voluntary, and the only person keeping him from coming back was Louis himself. More tears trickled lethargically down Harry’s nose, and he almost furiously swiped them away.

They would make good parents. He was sure of that. How many times had they taken care of Alice, and far more capably than her real parents? Harry was sure that a baby would be good for him – it would give him something to focus on which wasn’t anger or other unhealthy emotions of that sort. Something to do while he was waiting for Louis.

_It’s not fair!_ Harry thought bitterly, _what did I do to deserve this? I killed a bad guy who was making the world a miserable place, and this is what I get for it? I love Louis so much and he doesn’t love me any more because of this one thing I can’t do for him. He’d love me if we had a baby, I know he would. If only…_

He hesitated. It wasn’t as if there were no babies at all in the general vicinity – because there was one just over the hill. A child he loved like she was his own, that he cared for unequivocally already, a baby that he knew Louis cared about too. The child that had made the two of them so stupidly, the baby with the big dark eyes and the intelligent expression which made her look like she _listened,_ when all you needed was a listener. Baby Alice.

_I want her,_ was the next thought that popped into his head. Oh, he wanted her. To care for her and look after her the way she deserved, rather than foisting her off on strangers like her parents had. He ached to defend her and soothe her when she was upset and listen to her babbling his name in a midst of incoherent nonsense, and to vent to her when he was ashamed to tell anyone else how he felt. He wanted to watch her grow; to rub her sore knees when she fell down and to take photos as she blew out the candles on her birthday cake every year. To see her go for her first day at school, then high school, to meet her first boyfriend and her first love and maybe one day he and Louis would each take one of her arms and walk her down the aisle as she married the man – or woman – she would stay with for the rest of her life. The feelings had poured out of him all of a sudden, overwhelming him, and he had to take a sharp intake of breath to calm himself at the corresponding rush of desperation and pure longing that accompanied them.

He could imagine Louis blowing raspberries onto her stomach, making her giggle. Taking her for a walk in her pram across the clifftops, playing with her toys and doing silly voices for each doll and stuffed animal. Tucking her into bed every night, kissing her on the forehead and whispering “I love you, Alice. You’ve made our lives so much better,” while Harry watched in adoring silence from the doorway. Their little girl. God, he wanted it so much that it hurt. In fact, he could barely stand the thought that right now, Alice was lying in an overgrown garden on her own or still squeezed into a cot by some stupid girl with ridiculous blue and purple hair who cared more about drugs than her baby. It made him furious even to think of it.

_Louis would make an amazing dad._

The next confusing thought that he managed to get enough of a grasp on to contemplate properly was a memory; Louis speaking to him in disapproval. _“That girl spends most of her time so high that she probably doesn’t even know she_ has _a baby.”_ They’d been lying together in bed at the time, Louis stroking delicate lines down Harry’s back, while Harry complained as usual about Micheline’s complete lack of parenting skills, and the feel of Louis’ hands had been somewhat distracting, so he couldn’t remember a lot of what had been said, but that one sentence had stuck with him.

If there was one thing Harry was an expert on, it was reckless and impulsive decisions. He’d certainly made a lot of them in his time. Falling for his psychiatrist even though he knew full well that it was both illegal and probably immoral, especially as that psychiatrist was so much more beautiful and humane than he was. Especially as that psychiatrist would only get into trouble for being with him, especially when he was both endangering one of the most beautiful people there had ever been and making him risk his career, just for him. Choosing to go and join a gang of dangerous criminals who could turn on him at any second, then abandon the ones with the experience, steal a gun and go and hunt down an insane kidnapper who had beaten him up before with ease. He was definitely good at being reckless.

Life had never been kind to him; he always tried to squeeze out every little bit of luck that he got; he grabbed every single opportunity it gave him with both hands and hung on determinedly and refused to let go. Therefore the idea which had occured to him, however insane, however stupid, however unlikely to work…he had to try. If it went wrong, then he’d most likely be locked up again, put back into prison. But he didn’t really care about that. Because if Louis didn’t love him any more, then he didn’t care that much about freedom. And if it went right, and everything miraculously worked out for him…then Louis would love him again. It would all be worth the risk.

Was he mad? Quite possibly. It seemed like he’d broken again, except this time Louis wasn’t around to fix him. He laughed at the sheer ridiculousness of it, because if Louis was there he would have stopped this, but if he could pull it off, then it would change everything. Their whole lives. Everything they ever wanted could finally be theirs, nothing missing – and he wanted it so, so badly.

~*~

Micheline never locked her front door. This was something he’d found out within the first week or so of looking after Alice; around the fourth or fifth time he’d gone to collect her, he’d knocked on the front door and it had taken a good ten or fifteen minutes for Micheline to hear him knocking. As she’d invited him in, she’d told him that next time he could just let himself in. The door was never locked, she’d said. Harry remembered being shocked by the idea that she’d left her door so that anyone could just walk in; he and Louis _always_ locked their doors. Even the _idea_ of leaving their doors unlocked made him shudder. But then again, he and Louis had reasons to lock their doors. Because the last time they had left them unlocked, someone rather unpleasant had come inside – and they were more than a little keen to prevent it from happening again. Apparently, Micheline had no such worries.

He entered quietly, with the kind of tense silence that he hadn’t found necessary since that rescue mission from a few months ago. Once he’d started creeping through the hallway, he realized that there was little need for subtlety; the sound of manic, almost frighteningly uncontrolled laughter was pouring from the living room – a quick peek through the gap between the door and wall showed him that they were cuddled up on the sofa, argument of a few days previous clearly forgotten, sharing some kind of weird cigarette that billowed thick white smoke everywhere and clearly contained far more than just nicotine. They were giggling madly, their laughter oddly pitched and unhealthy, like they were laughing at the funniest thing ever, the most hilarious joke in the world, and nobody else was privy to it except the two of them. Shaking his head disgustedly, Harry wrinkled his nose. Drugs. What an idiotic thing to do to yourself; fill yourself with damaging chemicals and lose your mind when there was a baby upstairs who needed you. His decision was already made, but that made it ten times more definite – because he knew he would never do that, and yet Rupe and Micheline were doing it – and _laughing._

Tension rippling through him, Harry walked through the house feeling like a burglar, wincing at every creak of the floorboards, every noise that was unaccounted for. The crazed laughter bursting from the living room did nothing to reassure him, making him jump as it broke the silence, although it did admittedly help to mask the few sounds caused by his ascent of the stairs. He’d never realized quite how badly Micheline’s floorboards squeaked.

Alice’s room was bathed in shadows; darkness draped everywhere, causing her few cuddly toys to look gloomy and lonely, as if her possessions had been abandoned as she was. The curtains were drawn so that her room was shady; murky, somehow. In fact, the only light in the room was from Alice’s wide eyes, gleaming in the darkness from where she lay in her bed, face turned towards the door, watching him as he stepped inside.

“Hey,” he whispered, and a tiny smile managed to find its way onto his face. It made his mouth ache, but with a bit of effort he managed to keep it there, just to reassure her.

She smiled in return, her small, rosy pink mouth stretching into a sweet curve. “Ha-ee,” she whispered back, holding out her hand, tiny finger stretching through the bars towards him.

Walking over to her, treading silently in his black converse sneakers, he carefully crouched down beside the cot and carefully stroked the back of one of her small hands with one long finger, looking at her and wondering what kind of life she might have if he turned around and left her now. One filled with violence and shouting and angry parents that slapped each other one day and snuggled up smoking some kind of disgusting drug the next. God knows what the beautiful, sweet little girl might grow up like! That was the thought that had Harry reaching down, getting a careful grip on her and lifting her up into his arms, out of the cot, cradling him against her chest and lightly stroking her cheek with his thumb.

“Come on, love. We’re going to go for a little walk, okay? Just a little bit of a walk. But we have to be quiet, okay? Don’t say anything, it’s important. Okay? Shh.”

Alice’s eyes were intelligent and wide, and she regarded him with a solemn air, blinking slowly at him. She understood, clearly, and that was one of the things he admired about Alice – she caught on to things quickly. Her lips pressed together, and she covered her mouth with her hand; almost shushing him, albeit in a slightly clumsy way. Carefully walking towards the door, Harry checked the room to make sure that there was no sign that he’d been there, and then he slowly opened the door, wary that it might creak, even though it was unlikely that Rupe and Micheline would hear it over the sound of their own laughter.

Making sure to glance down the hallway in case anyone was stumbling upstairs (although whether they’d be able to focus for long enough to see him was debatable) he sneaked down the stairs in complete silence. He edged past the living room, where Micheline was blowing clumsy smoke rings between fits of giggles while Rupe stared in fascination and tried to catch them, grabbing clumsily at the air as if he could take the clouds of smoke in one of his fists. Perfectly still against him, and obediently silent as he had requested, Alice watched them with a kind of sadness in her eyes, like she was thinking about how mature she seemed compared to her parents. Rubbing her comfortingly on the back, Harry quickly inched past the open doorway, reached the front door, and then he was alighting the front step on tiptoe, slowly closing the door behind him with a subdued click so as not to disturn them. Harry hesitated for a moment before checking to make sure that no one was watching, because if anyone saw him now then that would be the end of everything. He licked his lips. It seemed like nobody was around; he couldn’t see anyone, at least. Determined not to look suspicious, he breathed sharply out, stood up straight, and then began striding up the hill with Alice on his hip, like he was babysitting as usual. Just like any other day.

Nobody even thought to question him.


	13. Chapter 13

“And then,” Niall choked, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes, struggling to get the rest of his story out past his almost uncontrollable laughter, “then I says to her, I says, ‘no offence, love, but I kind of prefer sausages to fish’!”

They all howled with laughter, Louis even more uproariously than the rest, banging his fist on the table as he struggled to stay upright. Even Liam was in fits, clutching his stomach; Zayn was bent double and bright red in the face, and Niall was literally crying, tears of mirth pouring down his face from sheer amusement at his own story.

“And as if that wasn’t enough,” gasped Niall, clinging on to the table to support himself, “then this bastard” – he jerked a thumb at Zayn “ – this perfect bastard, he comes up behind me, kisses me right on the neck, and he says…oh God…he says to me ‘hey, babe, did you order the salmon or the plaice’?”

Louis screamed with laughter and took himself by surprise, quite shocked that he had even managed to make a noise like that. All four of them fell helplessly about, and at some point Niall ended up rolling around on the floor, bright purple in the face, crying with the force of his amusement. It had been a long time since Louis had laughed hard enough to give himself a stomach ache, and he had missed it; clutching his abdomen, he gasped raggedly for breath, moaning at the pain rippling through him, and struggled to calm himself down from the ridiculous amount of hilarity that Niall’s tale had caused.

“Oh, God, that was a day and a half,” said Niall, wiping the last traces of moisture from his eyes. “Anyway, Louis, I think we should talk a bit more about why exactly you’re here. You and Harry have an argument, is that it?”

“Nah, not exactly. I just kind of needed some space. I love him to bits, but he drives me insane sometimes, you know? Like he’s so optimistic; he expects everything to just fall into place, and I could just slap him!” He sighed. “I should have gone back hours ago, but honestly, I don’t know what to say to him.”

“Did you think about flowers?” asked Zayn. “Niall likes that. If he’s in a mood, I always turn up at home with a bunch of flowers, don’t I, babe?” Fondly ruffling Niall’s hair, he pulled him closely against his side.

Forehead creasing with thought, Louis admitted “I think he’d prefer it if I just came home, if I’m honest. He’s not big on theatrics. I just feel bad for leaving him like that; he struggles to cope without me sometimes.”

“Clingy?” Liam asked sympathetically.

“No. No, that’s not it at all. He’s just kind of…he’s quite dependent, you know? His mind tends to short-circuit sometimes if anything too drastic happens, and he sort of has relapses. Nothing too serious, but I should have stayed there to comfort him. He’ll be in a right state. I dread to think how many times he’s called me.” Worriedly patting his pocket, where his phone was switched off and had been all night, Louis shook his head. “He’ll forgive me in an instant, but I still shouldn’t have done it.”

“I’m sure he’ll understand. It must be pretty demanding having to take care of him like that all the time, if he’s going to be suffering from paranoia and having panic attacks all over the place, that kind of thing.” Patting him sympathetically, Niall pushed his beer across the table. “Get that down you, and relax for a bit.”

Louis sighed heavily and took a small sip from the glass, careful not to overdo it; he was planning on driving back to Brighton soon, and had no intention of being over the limit. “Sometimes I feel like he’s in an entirely different world to me, you know? He’s not insane; anything but – sometimes he’s so sensible that it scares me. The things he comes out with sometimes…they make me feel like _I’m_ the one recovering from a mental breakdown. Because that’s all it was, just a temporary incapability to cope, and I don’t know if he’ll ever fully recover from it. Sometimes he’s frighteningly lucid. He runs rings around me.”

Comfortingly, Liam squeezed his shoulder. “Harry’s many things, but he’s certainly not an idiot. I remember how he used to insult people, quick as a flash, and he’d _smile_ at them so innocently as he did it, like he was doing them a favour – and then he’d turn around and walk away before they realized he’d just called them a complete moron. Or words to that effect.”

Louis snorted with laughter. “He’s always had a way with words.”

“We’ve missed you guys, you know,” Niall admitted, staring into the depths of his drink with faint embarrassment. He tapped Zayn’s knee. “He has too, not that he’ll admit it. We call you guys now and then, I know, but it’s not the same…you’re gonna have to bring Harry down to see us some time, yeah? It’s hard, because when you go from living with a guy and spending every day with him to not seeing him at all…we miss him, and phone calls aren’t the same. Promise you’ll come down and stay with us for a couple of days?”

“Of course we will,” promised Louis, surreptitiously sliding his hand into his pocket to switch on his phone whilst still maintaining eye contact with Niall. “Harry’s missed you guys too. I’ll arrange something with him and we’ll come stay for a couple of days, if you’ll have us.”

“Have you? We’ll never let you leave,” teased Zayn, reaching across the table to lightly punch him on the arm. “We’ve missed those curly locks being around the place. Can’t say I’ve missed the sarcasm. I could never tell if he was messing with me or being serious.” He frowned slightly.

“If in doubt, take it as sarcasm,” Louis advised, his mouth twitching in amusment. “Yes, he does have a habit of deadpanning and saying something and even I’m not always sure how to take it. Just take everything as sarcasm; makes everything a lot more straightforward.”

Zayn opened his mouth to reply – and then Louis yelped and almost fell off his chair as, in his pocket, his phone started having a fit. That was what it felt like, anyway; it was shuddering spasmodically and making a whining noise as his ringtone distorted, and as he pulled it out in utter horror to find that he had fifteen missed calls from Harry, nine desperately apologetic texts and three tearful answerphone messages, he was so horrified that the first phonecall he returned was Micheline’s. She’d only left him four messages, but that was sufficiently alarming that he responded to those first; for her to even have acknowledged him, now that she had coerced Harry’s phone number out of him, must have been urgent.

She picked up on the first ring, astonishingly, and instead of greeting him with the unenthusiastic grunt which she usually reserved for him, she let out a low, whimpering sob.

“Micheline?” he gasped, bewildered. His fingers tightened on the phone – _God,_ what could make her sound like that? She never cared about anything! For her to be crying, it must be serious… and why would she call him and not Harry? Unless something had happened _to_ Harry…Louis felt his heart scrabbling its way up into his throat and sticking there as his brain helpfully presented him with some of his worst memories: Harry’s wrists, heavily bandaged, complexion paler than usual as he lay unconscious in the hospital; Harry’s bruised and bloody face, staring desolately at him through a glass partition; the sound of machines beeping dully, hooked up to Harry, needles poking into his skin and pouring painkillers into his veins…he felt sick, and he started trembling as he forced himself to try and keep at least a slight grip on sanity.

“Where the hell is your boyfriend?” she demanded. “Where the hell has he taken my baby?”

Louis’ heart sank from its uncomfortable place in his throat to somewhere deep in the pit of his stomach. “What?”

“I never called him this morning,” she said through gritted teeth, with forced calmness, “but when I went to go and give Alice her breakfast, she wasn’t in her cot. Nobody else knows that we always leave the front door unlocked, so who the hell else could have taken her? And he isn’t answering his phone, so what I want to know is where on earth is he, and I _seriously_ hope he has a good excuse for not being here because I’ve called the police and they’re going to be asking a lot of nasty questions!”

Grabbing onto the table for support, Louis asked faintly “You called the _police_?”

He could see it so well in his mind’s eye: a terrified Harry backing away from a shouting crowd of uniformed officials, who were restraining angrily barking dogs and bellowing orders through a megaphone. Under that kind of pressure, Harry’s mind could buckle. Not that he would have admitted it, but he was still mentally fragile; something like that could do horrible damage to him. Best case scenario, he would be petrified. Louis felt his jaw flex. Not his Harry. If anyone so much as made Harry flinch, they’d have the whole force of his wrath bearing down on them, and a furious Louis was a force to be reckoned with. His free hand clenched into a fist.

“Of course I did, what did you expect me to do? That’s my baby he’s run off with!”

Taking a deep breath, Louis said “I’ll come down and help you look for him, and I’ll try to contact him in the meantime. If you find him…” _Deep breaths, Louis._ “If you find him, tell him it’s all right and I’ll be here soon.”

She sounded disgusted. “He’s not _mental._ ” But then she said reluctantly “fine, I’ll tell him. But you listen here; if he’s hurt a _single_ hair on Alice’s head, then the both of you will regret the day you were even _thought of_.”

She hung up on him without another word, and Louis was left to think darkly that not only would Harry rather dig out his own eyeballs with a rusty hairpin and eat them than even _consider_ hurting Alice, but it was a bit rich of Micheline to lecture them about taking care of her child bearing in mind that since they’d met her, they’d seen her leave the baby on a table unattended where she was in severe danger of rolling off, abandon her in a garden which more resembled a rubbish tip, and smoke whilst standing over her baby and nearly set Alice’s hair on fire with the ash that was being dropped everywhere.

_Oh, Harry._ He’d known that Harry desperately wanted them to have a child – Jesus, he wanted it too! He wanted it more than anything! But he hadn’t realized quite how much Harry wanted it. What he’d be willing to do to make it happen. His stomach contracted at the thought. Why had Harry been unable to confide in him? He wasn’t just his psychiatrist any more, wasn’t even a friend – Harry was his world! It hurt to know that Harry had kept this desire so secret from him, or at least the raw despondency he’d felt because he couldn’t have it. But what hurt most of all was the thought that Harry had felt so lonely that he’d gone behind his back and done this awful, awful thing, and Louis hadn’t been there to stop him. He should have been there! He should always be there for Harry, no matter what. Love, support, it was all part of what made their relationship as incredible as it was, and he’d just walked out! He hated himself for it.

His throat ached, feeling raw, like he’d swallowed a jug full of broken mirrors and they were scratching the inside of his throat into a bloody mess. Beside him, Niall looked concerned and reached out to touch him lightly on the elbow, but Louis was too busy fumbling with his phone and bringing Harry’s familiar number up on the screen, despite the fact he knew it off by heart and didn’t _need_ to waste time scrolling through his contacts. Trembling, he rang, and silently prayed for Harry to pick up as the phone rang over and over again –

“Hi –”

Weak with relief, Louis interrupted “Harry! Thank God! Listen, where the hell are you, Bluey’s going frantic –” He was only halfway through his sentence when he realized that Harry was still talking, and closing his eyes, he stopped and listened, groaning inwardly as that familiar voice rattled off an equally familiar bland, unhelpful message. His answering machine.

“ – this is Harry. I can’t answer my phone right now, so please leave a message!”

Even the idea of trying to force out a message seemed pointless, so he carefully put his phone down on the table and thought for a while about what to do. Honestly, he hadn’t the faintest idea. He couldn’t contact Harry, hadn’t a clue where he’d be, didn’t know what to _do…_ he felt so stupid, so helpless, and that was one thing which Louis hated.

“Louis?”

Surprisingly, he was standing up with his phone back in his hand, staring at it like he expected Harry to materialize out of it, and Niall, Zayn and Liam were all staring anxiously at him as if he was about to do something dangerous. The expression on his face felt borderline psychotic, so really, he couldn’t blame them. Forcing a vaguely neutral look onto his face, he started checking through the texts like his life depended on it; all those bleak, hopeless little messages, and felt his eyes start burning like he’d shoved a couple of baby hedgehogs into each eye socket.

_I’m so sorry, Lou. I only wanted to help you. Please come back. Please don’t leave me, Louis. I’m begging you, come back, we can work this out._

_I know I messed up. I always do. I’d say you should be used to it by now, but you shouldn’t have to fix all my screw-ups. It’s my fault._

_Do you not love me any more, is that it? I can’t say I’m surprised. I never deserved you. But I really don’t think I can live without you, Lou! I’ll change, I’ll do_ anything. _Tell me what I have to do to get you back._

_Call me. Please? I can’t stand this._

_You don’t have to come home if you can’t stand the sight of me. Just a phone call, or a text? Please, Louis. You loved me once, I know you did. If you won’t come back, at least give me an explanation. Surely you owe me that much. Don’t walk out of my life without letting me know what I did wrong._

_That was stupid. What_ haven’t _I done wrong?_

_I’m an idiot. I don’t deserve you, I don’t deserve any of what we had. I suppose I should be grateful that you wasted so many months of your life on me – it’s selfish of me, but it doesn’t feel like enough. I still love you, Louis._

_I’ll always love you. Even if you don’t love me, even if you can’t just be my friend, I’ll always be in love with you! It hurts that you’ve forgotten me, and this is stupid because it’s only been a night but I just need you to call me! I need to know you’re all right. I need to hear your voice._

_Is this goodbye, then? Ignore me all you want, pretend I never existed and I’ll never contact you again, if that’s what you really want. But if it’s a goodbye you’re waiting for, you’re going to have to wait for a very long time. Because nothing you can do will ever make me say it._

That was the end of it all – the answerphone messages, the texts, it all ended there. Louis wondered if Harry even knew he’d sent half of them. Perhaps he’d blanked it all out – people did sometimes. It was a way of blocking severe emotional pain; forgetting it had ever happened. Maybe he’d forgotten it all, losing it in a swirl of other memories that had faded into oblivion over time.

Alternatively, perhaps that was the moment when he’d put his phone down, walked up the hill, crossed the grassy slope and sneaked into Micheline’s house, and plucked baby Alice from her bed and carried her away, because if he couldn’t have someone to take care of him then maybe having someone to take care of would do.

“Louis, are you all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost?” Zayn’s tone sharpened as he grabbed Louis by the arm and demanded, “Is it Harry? Is Harry okay?”

Swallowing fiercely, Louis blinked back the irritating, useless moisture in his eyes and whispered brokenly, “I don’t know.”

~*~

He wasn’t panicking yet, but he certainly wasn’t far off. It also seemed extremely unfair that he had only figured out what an awful idea this was _now_ , after he’d snatched the baby and was hurrying up the hill with her cradled rather obviously in his arms, listening to the scream of police sirens wailing through the village and turning white as if each piercing sound was someone screeching his name at top volume.

Harry’s original, rather rubbish plan had been to take refuge in the house, but when he turned the corner to take the first step into their front garden and saw that a man wearing a billowing luminous yellow jacket and a silly hat was stood on the front step knocking patiently on the door, he quickly revised that plan. The sirens in the village of course were a pretty big deterrent from heading down there. Eventually, he picked his way carefully around the back and ended up heading down the slope to his and Louis’ beach – he hadn’t explored all of it yet; who knew? Maybe there was some kind of way that he could escape that way. Or some kind of enormous cave to hide in.

“S’okay, Alice,” he mumbled, hoisting her more securely against his hip and holding her almost suffocatingly tightly against his chest. They’d have to prise her out of his cold dead arms if they had any intention of ever getting him to let her go. “We’re just going for a little walk, okay?”

Her eyes were wide and thoughtful as she scanned his face almost disapprovingly, like she knew that he was lying and was trying to understand why. It made him feel a little uncomfortable, if he was quite honest, so he avoided her discerning gaze and focused on delicately navigating a safe path down to the beach. To be fair, it took rather a lot of concentration.

The back window of the house was open, which was why he heard the sound coming from his house so well; his phone was ringing, with the special ringtone he’d set from Louis; a scratchy, slightly wavery version of _Look After You_ by The Fray that he’d recorded from under the table one day when Louis had been washing up and singing to himself under his breath without realizing that Harry was sitting listening and feeling some rather emotional feelings stirring around inside him at the sound. Groaning, Harry stopped and covered his face with his free hand; the one which wasn’t holding onto Alice for dear life. _Finally,_ Louis returned his calls – and slightly creepy, desperately needy texts – and he wasn’t in the house. He felt a pang of loss for his phone, and momentarily considered attempting to break into the house to go and fetch it before a yell drifted around the house and the man in the enormous yellow jacket came rushing round, flanked by two other equally luminous colleagues, and they all stood talking animatedly and pointing up at the window, clearly discussing whether or not it was legal to break in without a warrant and how easy it would be to retrieve the ringing phone.

Great. So he’d been begging Louis to call him, which give him his due, he had, and when the call was answered, instead of being answered by an at least borderline rational Harry who was ready to calmly discuss things and persuade Louis to come back or at least get an explanation for why he had left, Louis would find his call being answered by the police instead. Wonderful. Well, that would give him an absolutely _brilliant_ impression of Harry’s sanity.

He picked up his pace, speeding up as he hurried down the slope, careful but more quickly this time, so that he could vanish from sight without being spotted by any of the people looking for him. The sounds of voices carried easily, and he could hear several conversations going on at once – in fact, over the calm voices of the police, he could distantly hear Rupe and Micheline, screaming at each other.

If he’d honestly believed that they were frightened for Alice’s well-being, he would have been scrambling up that slope and shoving her back into her mother’s arms that very second, and then curling into a tiny ball and sobbing for someone to take him and lock him away, because what kind of monster steals a baby from her mother for his own selfish ends? But as snatches of their yelling discourse drifted across and he caught words such as “snooping around” “inquiries” “stupid cow” and what sounded like the names of several rather nasty and illegal drugs, Harry realized that they were panicking more over the possibility of the police finding their hoard of recreational drugs and locking them up for it, and his jaw tightened angrily.

“You’re better off without them, honey,” he said grimly. “Trust me.”

Alice said nothing, but her expression was downcast, as if her parents had disappointed her. Harry knew the feeling; they’d disappointed him, too. Worrying more about hiding their illegal drug habit than their missing baby! It almost made him feel sick to think about it.

“Everything is going to be fine, I promise. They’ll all give up and go away, and Louis will come home and he’ll love me again because of you. You’ll bring us back together, Alice. We’re going to give you a home and love you forever, and it’ll be hard and we might have to go away, but that doesn’t matter, because you’re family now. Family matters more to Louis than anything. He’ll find a way to make it all right because that’s what he does; he looks after people. He’ll look after us too, Alice.”

He _didn’t_ know; he didn’t know at all, but one of the things Louis had always been good at was making light of a bad situation, and if making promises he wasn’t entirely sure he’d keep was good enough for Louis, then it was good enough for him. Especially as Alice was only a baby and wouldn’t necessarily remember what he’d said.

“He’ll come. He’ll come for us. Louis always does. You can always count on him to be there when you need him. That’s how I know. He’ll be there. When we need him most, he’ll be there.”

He wasn’t sure who he was trying hardest to convince – Alice, or himself.


	14. Chapter 14

Louis didn’t park the car in the driveway, because he knew that if he came waltzing in and the police found him, either they’d attempt to drag him in for questioning, believing that he was in on Harry’s mad plan, or they’d try and force him to coax Harry out from wherever he was hiding and then turn him in – neither of which Louis wanted. If they took him down to the police station, it would be wasted hours of him knowing nothing and being pointlessly interrogated, hours that he could have spent finding Harry, reassuring him that everything was alright. Hours that Harry would spend afraid, hiding away, scared that Louis had abandoned him. He could hardly bear to think about it.

He had no intention of teaming up with the police, either. He was going to do things _his_ way; his and Harry’s way, the way they’d always had – just the two of them, and nobody else interfering. That was how things worked with Harry and him. Let a group of guys in uniform bellow at Harry, terrify him, bully him, and then lock him up again in a tiny cell afterwards? He’d die first.

Besides, he didn’t like the way the police worked. Too many accusations and not enough time spent trying to understand _why._ They’d jump to conclusions and scare Harry with their pointless shouting, and then where would they be? Scared Harry was not a good thinking to be dealing with. When Harry was scared, he became irrational, and when Harry became irrational, he became dangerous. Louis knew just how dangerous Harry could be, and if he had his way, the police wouldn’t find out. They’d never know how close Harry could come to losing his temper, how much damage he could inflict if he put his mind to it. They’d never have cause to lock him away and subject him to some kind of awful mental prodding by another, less caring psychiatrist who would rip his mind to shreds, pore over his secrets and then make some stupidly wrong diagnosis and declare him mentally unstable. He’d never allow anyone the opportunity to section Harry, send him off to a ward filled with people who actually had mental issues when all Harry really needed was love, stability and a good dose of attention every now and then. By no means could he protect Harry from everything, but he could keep him from _that_ , at least.

So he parked his car a safe distance away from the house, got out, and spent a couple of seconds deliberating over where Harry might be – it wasn’t too difficult to figure it out. So maybe he had a light tread, and wouldn’t have left so much as a tiny indentation of his foot in the ground as he snuck past, but for someone who knew Harry as well as he did, he worked it out almost instantly.

The sand crunched grittily beneath his feet as he descended down the slope and began heading down towards the beach in search of Harry. He didn’t dare to call out in case anyone heard him from above; instead, he neatly picked his way down the hill, scrambled over the fence, and then he was padding across the beach, scanning the ground for any sign that anyone had passed that way. He found it in the form of several enormous footprints; scuffmarks in the sand which he was careful to smooth out with his own foot as he went, covering his own tracks even as he disguised Harry’s. Why make it easy?

Every soft swish of the ocean made his skin prickle, hairs on the back of his neck standing uneasily on end for reasons he didn’t quite understand. Patiently following Harry’s trail and glancing over his shoulder to check for pursuers every now and then, Louis couldn’t help but feel on edge, like something awful was about to happen. He didn’t like the feeling. Paranoia wasn’t something he usually suffered from, but oh, how he pitied Harry now! It felt awful to be constantly anxious that someone was sneaking up on you. Irrational as it was, he couldn’t smoothe out the lines on his forehead, couldn’t seem to reassure himself, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his torso as he walked, pretending that it was Harry holding him. Not that it helped much, but it held some of his shivers inside, anyway; there was a cool breeze rolling in from the ocean, whipping his hair around wildly and stinging his cheeks.

It was safe to say that he was well and truly lost; Harry had completely confused him. They’d never wandered this far down the beach before, but the tracks of Harry’s large feet just kept going, weaving an unsteady trail across the sands that Louis determinedly followed, refusing to be put off. Maybe Harry himself hadn’t even known where he was going! Louis really wouldn’t put it past him. Harry enjoyed solitude; he wouldn’t mind getting a bit lost.

After all, if he couldn’t find himself, what chance did anyone else have of finding him?

Louis headed after him completely calmly – it took him about ten minutes before he realized that his leg muscles were twinging a little and his breaths were growing shorter and sharper, and upon looking down he discovered that the ground beneath his feet was slowly but steadily sloping upwards, climbing back up towards the clifftops. Frowning, he glanced backwards in case somehow the beach was a kind of enormous loop and he’d come full circle, but he could still faintly see their house on the horizon behind him, way up the slope he’d descended down; he was definitely going the right way, but the beach was heading upwards again, and he couldn’t understand why Harry hadn’t turned back already. The footprints only headed in one direction.

After another nervous glance over his shoulder, Louis dared to cup his hands around his mouth and risked a low call of “Harry?” that echoed painfully loudly across the beach. He winced.

No answer came, but he hadn’t expected one. Shaking his head, Louis continued to follow the footprints, feeling his breaths come a little less easily, hitching and sticking his his throat with the exertion; it was a steep slope, far steeper than the one at the other end of the beach which he was used to scrambling down. Determinedly, he carried on; it would take more than a tricky incline to stop him now.

It was worrying, though; why would Harry persist, especially with a baby in tow? Why would he insist on climbing quite so high, when weighed down with a child who was not chubby by any means, but had substantial weight, and all to reach a height which he could have gotten to quite as easily without even having to cross the beach? More to the point, why was Harry trying to reach a high point anyway?

His heart sank down into his stomach, contemplated that new position for a while, and then constricted, scrunching into a tiny ball and squeezing itself somewhere down by his toes. _Oh, Harry. Please. Not like this._ Anything _but this._ Newly determined, Louis increased his pace, feeling his shirt begin to stick to his clammy skin, hoping and praying that he’d jumped to a stupid conclusion and he was completely wrong about the whole thing.

He reached the top, and didn’t even pause for breath before he was scanning the area, looking for a mop of curly hair and a distressed expression. He found the former reasonably easily; the soft chocolate brown mess stood out against the dull greyish white of the cloud-filled sky like a blob of mud in a snowdrift.

Harry was stood a fair distance away from him, his back to Louis, looking calmly down over the edge down at the crashing sea as if he had forgotten how to look away. The wind was playing in his gorgeous curls, ruffling them around, tossing them around his head like they were a little ocean of their own; a sea of chocolate brown churning in the air around his face. Alice was firmly clamped to his chest and she had two fistfuls of his jumper, snuggling against him, face buried in the navy wool. Louis almost hated to disturb them, but he was afraid – so afraid, of the way Harry was stood up straight, his back stiff and rigid, staring coldly down at the sea like he wanted it to swallow the two of them up. Perhaps he did. It wasn’t _Harry_ , though; the statuesque stiffness, the emotionless way he was standing… even the way he was stood made him seem like a stranger…like he was someone else. As if Louis had lost him already.

“Harry.” He spoke softly, but the wind snatched his words from his mouth and carried them away, and he knew Harry had heard him from the way his shoulders stiffened; he swore he almost saw Harry exhale sharply, then quickly take the breath back in, like he had betrayed himself. He didn’t turn around.

Louis approached slowly, cautiously. His training had kicked in, and he was careful to keep his body language neutral, expression soothing, despite the fact that Harry wasn’t even looking at him. He walked slowly towards Harry, and he was only a few metres away when Harry finally acknowledged him, turning slightly so that the profile of his face was just about visible; long lashes, his nose, and those soft pink lips pressed sharply together like he was holding back a sob.

“Don’t.”

It was a soft syllable, but he could hear the final remnants of Harry’s self control fluttering on the edges of it, slowly draining away. A painful reminder that he didn’t know quite how rational Harry was right then. So he decided not to risk it; he froze, staying exactly where he was, looking across at where Harry stood still on the cliff-edge, every muscle in his face tight and hard.

“What, love?” he asked softly.

Harry twitched slightly at the endearment; Louis wasn’t sure whether it was a shudder in protest or a quiver of longing. “Don’t come any closer.”

Well, he’d hoped it wasn’t going to be like that, but at least his suspicions had been confirmed now. At least he had a vague idea of what he was dealing with, and how to cope with it. Keep him talking, that was the main thing. Maybe if Harry could make him understand, he’d feel that he could trust him again, share his burden…if he could share it, maybe that would make things easier for Harry. Maybe he would step away from the edge.

“Right. Okay. Shall I just stay here, then?” He shuffled a couple of tentative steps backwards, hoping to put Harry at ease. “Is this okay?”

A weird, distorted laugh tore from the back of Harry’s throat, jagged and harsh, and it made Louis flinch, his chest beginning to ache. How he wanted to comfort Harry right then; it was almost a physical pain to ignore the desperate urge to run over and hug him tightly. But his terror over what Harry might do if he did kept him rooted in place, so he had to listen to that helpless, lonely, broken sound echo between them and taunt him over Harry’s misery that he had no power to influence, no ability to muffle with a kiss or an embrace that would last all night. That sound would be the soundtrack to his nightmares for weeks to come.

“Nothing is okay any more,” Harry said miserably, and his voice cracked as he said it, wavering so that he sounded like a little boy pleading for help. He turned to face Louis, and the first lonely tear had trickled down his face, leaving a glimmering trail down his cheek.

“You’re upset, Harry. I know that. But please hear me out. I shouldn’t have left you; I shouldn’t have done that. I needed a bit of space, and I should have contacted you, let you know I was okay. But please. Come away from there.”

“It wasn’t just you leaving that led me to this. It’s been coming for a while, if I’m honest. Maybe that was just the last little poke that pushed me over the edge.” Laughing again, Harry shook his head with the faintest trace of amusement. “Appropriate. But honestly, Lou; take a look at me. We acted like I was fixed, and maybe I thought I was. But we both know there’s something seriously wrong with my head, and even you can’t do anything about that. It’s a glitch; it’s how I am, and I honestly don’t think it’s fixable.” He took a shuddering breath. “I wanted Alice from the moment I saw you hold her, Lou. I wanted her to be ours. Honestly, it was only a matter of time before I snapped and stole her for myself. I’m so selfish, I know, and this might possibly ruin everything, but I couldn’t leave her there.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Louis commanded. It was against the psychologist’s creed to tell someone that what they thought was wrong, but he couldn’t help it. How could he listen to Harry say those awful things about himself? No one in their right mind could stand it, no one who knew his Harry the way he did. “There’s nothing wrong with you, babe. You just needed someone to take care of. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Face it, Lou! I’m one of society’s monsters! You’ve tried, and you’ve tried, and _God,_ I love you for it. You kept trying to make me right, when you could have given up. But there’s nothing you can do. I’ve snatched someone else’s baby! They’ll lock me up for this, and they’ll throw away the key. I hope they do. That way I can’t ruin things for you any more.” Harry closed his eyes and a low sound almost like a whimper broke out of him before he regained his control again. “I know you won’t understand. But if I jump now, then that means that I won’t be languishing in a cell somewhere, because I know that if I was, you’d be waiting forever for me to come out. Oh, I know you love me, and that’s your one flaw. That’s all that’s ever been wrong with you, and all that ever will be.”

He burst into tears at that, real uncontrollable, noisy sobs, losing himself in that last sentence, and he had to bury his face into Alice’s fluffy dark hair and use her kind of like a human handkerchief to mop them away. Louis was already crying too, helplessly, tears streaking down his cheeks and wetting his neck. They would accomplish nothing, but he couldn’t hold them back.

Harry spoke again, quite calmly bearing mind that he was crying his eyes out, ripping himself apart right before Louis’ eyes. “I’ve had a lot of time to think about this; a lot of hours. At first I thought we could run away; you, Alice and I. I thought we’d be all right. But they’d catch us eventually, and then you’d be my accomplice…my partner. In crime, as well as in everything else.” He shook his head, wiping his teary left eye with the back of one hand. “I couldn’t let them lock you up too; how would we ever find each other again? And I doubt you’d survive prison anyway, no offence. They’d rip you apart in there. So I figured out, maybe if I did this…everything would be okay.”

“You know what? I take back everything I just said. You’re bloody bonkers. Don’t do anything stupid, Harry, please, just don’t. Come away from the edge! I couldn’t live with myself if you –”

“I want you to promise me that when I’m gone, you won’t pine after me, all right? I need you to find yourself someone else, and get your own baby, and be _happy._ Do that for me, would you, Lou?” He looked terrified, and he was squeezing Alice so tightly that she started crying, but for once, neither of them paid her any attention.

“Don’t be so fucking stupid, Harry.” Louis was angry now, his voice shaking. “You’ve got a baby in your arms. Think about what you’re doing.”

Scornfully, Harry said, “I’m not planning on taking her with me, if that’s what you mean.”

“Well, I hope you realize that if you put her down, and you jump off this cliff, then I’ll be jumping straight in after you. Nobody knows we’re here, and I made sure to cover our tracks. No one will find her. If you die, then you kill the two of us too, Harry.” It was a low blow, using Alice against him – but there was _nothing_ Louis wouldn’t have said right then. His desperation had made him both unscrupulous and unstoppable.

For the first time since the argument had begun, Harry hesitated. “You wouldn’t.” His voice was unsteady and wavered with uncertainty.

“Oh, but I would, and you know it. You know I’d lay down my life in exchange for yours, and if yours couldn’t be given back, I’d throw mine away in an instant, because without you it’s not worth living. _Damnit,_ Harry! Can’t you see how much I love you?” He shouted it right in Harry’s face, advancing a couple of steps and throwing his hands up in frustration. They were far closer now; Louis was only a few feet away from being able to reach out and brush Harry’s wet cheek with the very tips of his fingers.

“That’s why I’m doing this, Lou! You love me too much! And I love _you_ too much. We should never have gotten into this mess, Louis; you deserve to fall in love with someone so much better than me. I should never have come into your life, Louis – now I’m taking myself out of it.” Closing his eyes, he whispered, “the world will be a far better place without me in it.”

Louis snorted. “You’ve been inhaling Micheline’s pot smoke. The world without you would be an _awful_ place, I can’t think of anything worse. It’s certainly not the kind of world I’d want to live in. So you, Harry Styles, can step away from that edge right now, or so help me I’ll –”

“I think I preferred the two or three hours of my life where I thought you _didn’t_ love me. It was easier than this. I’ve tried to explain, why won’t you let me do this, Lou? You know why I want to do it. You know why I _have_ to.”

“No, I don’t. We’ve always fought against everything, Harry; that’s our thing. We weren’t supposed to be in love with each other, but we didn’t care about that. You were supposed to spend at least another ten years in prison; we fought that, didn’t we? And here you are. Nobody wanted us to be together, but no matter what we had to do, we’ve always done it together. So you listen to me; I want to wake up every morning with you by my side. I want to hold you in my arms every night and kiss all those worry lines off your forehead. I want to try and cook for you and hear you laugh when I almost burn the house down, and I want to see the day where you become an old man and start going bald, so I can tease you about losing all your curls. So come away from that edge right now before I make you!”

“None of that can happen, Lou. Not now. I’ve screwed things up, like I always do. They’ll lock us up, I told you!”

“Harry. You’re incredible, but you do have this rather misguided tendency to underestimate me. If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s talking. I can talk my way out of a tricky situation as easily as I can talk my way into your bed, so please, just stop all this and let me sort this out.” He was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling rapidly, eyes wide. “ _Please._ ”

Their eyes met, blue and green, and the two of them stared each other down for a while, Louis struggling to keep breathing steadily, visibly panic-stricken, and Harry crying in silence, not making a single sound, tears dripping down his face and dropping off his chin. Louis wanted to wipe them away, but he didn’t dare move in case he distracted Harry from the turmoil that was visibly churning away inside his brain.

He didn’t understand how Harry had gone from thinking that Louis didn’t love him to being convinced that he loved him too much; that he’d be better off if he was gone. What really was laughable was that Harry seemed to think he’d be content to live with someone else; some new lover who would smile and touch him with gentle hands and do some of the things that Harry did but not enough of them. Who would love him in the wrong way. The thought of living with someone else, of not having the easy banter that he and Harry shared, loving someone who didn’t need him and who was completely ‘sane’…someone who didn’t go round kidnapping children or getting either violent or sexual urges at inopportune moments; someone who didn’t have those devastating emerald eyes or dazzling smile; someone who never cried or struggled with anything…someone who wasn’t Harry…it was unbearable. For most people, the exchange would be taken gladly, but not him.

His whole mind, body and soul was made to love Harry; their bodies fitted so perfectly together, their conversation was never awkward, even their silences were ridiculously perfect. Before Harry, he had never believed beyond all shadow of a doubt in soul mates; now he couldn’t see how it would be possible to love anyone else.

Harry was a part of him now, and he always would be. A part which he would never consent to have ripped away.

“I don’t know what we’ll do, Louis,” whispered Harry. “I don’t know if I can cope. I don’t think I can let her go. I just want a baby so, so badly…” He closed his eyes in defeat and tears forced their way through his eyelashes.

“I know you do. There’ll be other ways. We can talk our way out of this, Harry. I’ll fix it. We’ll find a surrogate if we have to – Hannah, or Gemma, or _anyone._ Anything we have to do, I’ll sort it all out. There’s always another way.”

“But Louis, this would be so much simpler,” breathed Harry almost pleadingly, eyelashes wet. “I know it would be hard in other ways, but it would work. Then you could find someone else who would be so much better for you…who could give you everything I never could…”

“If they’re giving me things you don’t have, then I don’t want them. I don’t _want_ them,” he repeated with conviction. “We promised not to lie to each other, remember? So I won’t lie to you. I won’t pretend that I’d _ever_ live without you, that I’d ever even _think_ of loving someone else! Please. Just give me a chance to work something out. I love you. You know that. I just wish you’d let me love you _more_.”

Trembling all over, Harry swallowed several times, licking his lips, trying to summon up some more courage, some more restraint, more willpower to try and come up with a new argument, a new way to fight Louis off, to argue with him. Louis knew he was winning; he’d always known which of Harry’s buttons to press, how to break him down, how to leave him helpless. He was so close now. Just one more little push would be enough to do it.

He had to be careful, though. He needed Harry to buckle but not break. To give in but not completely ruin him. The mind was a delicate thing, Harry’s more so than other people’s, and he had to be very careful with it. For a moment, he let things settle, allow his speech to properly sink in. Waited for Harry to realize just how much he meant every word.

Harry’s face crumpled, he let out a strangled noise halfway between a sob and a moan, and then he stumbled forwards and collapsed into Louis arms, pressing Alice between them, nuzzling his nose into the skin of Louis’ neck, inhaling the soft, musky smell of him. Never in all his life had he found something that smelt quite like that; exotic and yet like home at the same time, completely natural, a kind of blend of cinnamon and shampoo and rumpled bedclothes in the morning. He’d never found anything which soothed him quite so well as Louis’ smell.

Hands finding Harry’s shoulderblades, Louis pulled him more tightly against him, careful to raise Alice so that her head was resting on the opposite shoulder from the one Harry’s curly head lay on. Sobbing, Harry grabbed two fistfuls of the back of Louis’ coat and hot, wet tears fell from Harry’s cheeks and onto Louis’ collarbones. Holding him tightly, Louis rubbed gentle hands up and down his back, and he tilted his head to kiss Harry’s head several times, inhaling the smell of his curls with a great sense of relief.

“Come away from the edge?” he breathed into Harry’s ear, struggling to find it through a layer of thick, fluffy curls.

Obediently, Harry shuffled forwards, never letting go of Louis as he did so, keeping him so close that there was barely an inch between their bodies and they were pressed firmly together. As soon as they’d gotten a decent distance from the cliff face, Harry burrowed his face into Louis’ neck, kissed his jugular and then tilted his face upwards to kiss the underside of his jaw. For a few minutes, he did that, softly pressing his mouth to Louis’ neck, brushing his lips beneath his chin, bumping his nose against Louis’ jaw. His eyes were still rather wet. Closing them, he focused on how good it felt to have Louis’ skin underneath his mouth again, enjoying the sensation, the touches sparking between Harry’s lips and Louis’ neck.

“I love you, you idiot.” More kisses, from Louis’ lips this time, trailing up his jawline, fluttering little touches of his lips on the warm, smooth skin of Harry’s cheek, pushing back a handful of curls with one hand in order to access his ear. He nibbled it carefully, and Harry shuddered against him. “You hear me? You’re an _idiot._ ”

Harry gasped. “I know.” He arched into Louis’ caresses for a moment or so. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so, so, _so_ sorry.” For a few more moments, they did that, and then “God, Lou. I know. I’m sorry. But…I’m going to drop her –”

“Right, right, sorry! Here, give her to me –”

There was a lot of jostling, a couple of muttered swearwords and a couple more quick kisses here and there, just because they needed to touch, to reassure each other, and of course, Harry needed to apologise. But before all too long, Alice was in Louis’ arms, balanced on Louis’ right hip while Harry was tucked under Louis’ left arm. He rested his head on Louis’ shoulder and Louis turned his own head to kiss his curls again with a sigh.

“Never do that again, you beautiful, wonderful idiot! Promise me?”

“I promise. I promise, I’m so sorry, Lou, I’m so _sorry_!” His voice cracked and his arm, which was draped around Louis’ waist, tightened. His fingers gripped the back of Louis’ coat even more firmly, holding on tight.

“Okay. It’s all right. What’s done is done. Now how about we head back down again, yeah? And while we walk, I’ll think of a way that we can get out of this mess.” He sighed and kissed Harry on the cheek. “I love you so much. I’ll sort it all out, don’t you worry.”

“You’ll try,” Harry corrected a little bitterly. “Whether you’ll succeed is another matter…but I’ve learnt my lesson. When I don’t trust you, things go wrong. So I think it’s about time I started listening to you. You can try and sort things Lou, and this time I won’t mess it all up. I can sit quietly and let you do the talking, and this time I’ll prove it.”

“Quite right, too. I can’t remember the last time you actually did what I said.” Louis smiled amusedly at him, radiating fondness and sheer, unrestrained relief all over. “You’re all curls and banter and you never listen. Sometimes I think that all that hair blocks the sound waves to your ears. It would certainly explain why you never seem to hear a word I say to you.”

“I hear every word of it! I just choose not to obey. I’m asserting my independence. Like I’d ever let you be the alpha male around the house! You’re far too small.”

“My natural bossiness more than makes up for you being a giant. Anyway, you’re not _that_ tall. It’s the hair. It adds at least another six inches to your height, if not eight.”

Harry laughed at him. “Whatever. Short-arse.” Then he sighed, reaching up and rubbing his eyes. “Let’s go home, Lou. I just want to get it over with.”

Alice blinked up at Louis, and he looked carefully down at her with a soft, wistful smile.

“Yeah. Okay. Let’s get this little girl back home, shall we?”

“Alice!”

The shriek grated on both of their ears, and they looked up in alarm to see a figure wearing loose grey trousers and an enormous, baggy men’s shirt advertising some obscure band, staggering towards them. She wore dirty, scuffed purple converse, her bright red nails were bitten short, and her make-up was smeared – but it was her bright blue and purple hair that really made her impossible to miss, almost as if she was wearing an enormous flashing sign on her head that screamed ‘LOOK AT ME!’ Stumbling forwards, arms outstretched, her mouth had fallen open in another cry as she hurried across the grass towards them with a dazed expression.

“Alice!” she cried again. The moment she was close enough, she made an uncoordinated swipe for the baby, and out of instinct, Louis jerked backwards in surprise, startled by her clumsy aggression. He brought Alice smartly out of range, and Micheline’s expression darkened.

Harry quickly grasped Louis’ elbow and started pulling him away, surreptitiously shifting his long body so that it was slightly in front of his fiance’s, ready to protect him if the girl became violent and began lashing out, trying to scratch Louis’ face with her newly blunt nails or slapping him across the face. He wouldn’t hit a girl, but if he had to restrain her, he would happily knock her to the ground and pin her hands behind her back. He felt he owed it to her, on Alice’s behalf.

Micheline advanced on them, fury etched across every inch of her powdered-pale face, looking completely enraged. Harry kept retreating, pulling Louis swiftly back, daunted by her anger and smeared eyeliner, which had evolved from making her look like a startled racoon to giving her the look of some kind of furious panda – which was far scarier than it sounded. Irises burning accusingly, mouth smeared with scarlet lipstick and swollen from kisses, she wobbled unsteadily for a moment as she stormed forwards, clearly ready for a fight. Anxiously, Harry squeezed Louis’ left bicep very, very hard as she stopped dead right in front of them, so close that they could see the red rims around her smudgy eyes and see that she had been crying, smell her breath, which reeked of smoke and some kind of sour, tangy and probably illegal substance. Pulling a face, Harry leaned away from her.

“You two have got a hell of a lot of explaining to do,” she snarled, standing on her tiptoes so that she was level with Louis, glowering fiercely into his startled blue eyes. “But how about we start with you giving me my baby back?”


	15. Chapter 15

There were very few things that Harry was certain of any more, but one of them was this; he was most certainly not going to let Louis hand over a beautiful, vulnerable baby to someone who was so clearly completely high on god knows what, especially because she was struggling to even stand up straight. Louis seemed to share the sentiment; his lips pressed sharply together and he held Alice very tightly against his chest.

Seeming to realize that they weren’t going to give in to her, Micheline hesitated for a moment, and then exhaled heavily, shaking her head. “Fine. You know what? Fine! Don’t give her to me, then! But hear me out, because I really, _really_ need your help right now.”

Disgusted, Harry cried, “Our help? _Our_ help? You leave your baby unattended so that someone can walk in and steal her, you turn up out of your mind on drugs, and now you expect us to _help you_? You called the police on me! Help you? Dream on!”

Beside him, Louis placed a reassuring hand on the base of his back to remind him not to lose his temper, but he nodded in affirmation of Harry’s words; he had no intention of helping the blue-haired girl either. At least, not yet. She would have to come up with an extremely convincing argument to persuade him to help her now, after her stupid actions had almost caused the love of his life to throw himself off a cliff in fear of the connotations of being arrested. Oh, he was angry, and he didn’t see that changing any time soon. He glowered at her.

“No, please – you don’t understand! I didn’t think – I didn’t realize, but…” Closing her eyes, she swallowed. “Rupe…he’s an idiot. I love him so much, but he’s out of his mind, and I knew he was growing _something_ in our cellar, I just didn’t know how much! And now –”

“You’re making no sense! Slow down,” Louis commanded, “and tell us what’s actually happened, because you’re making no sense at all right now, and I have absolutely no idea what you want from us or why you’re telling us all this.”

She started pacing wretchedly up and down, eyes glued to the floor, fingers twisted desperately together. Louis mistrustfully watched her, and his grip on Harry’s shirt tightened, like he was afraid that she might turn on them at any second, like an animal. Her expression was quite reminiscent of a cornered animal; edgy, stressed, snappy.

“I’m not an addict. Contrary to what you two seem to think, I don’t spend my entire life high. It’s just when I get stressed, you know? But Rupe told me it’d be easier if, rather than going and hunting down all these dealers and stuff, if we…grew our own. So we kind of started up a little…plantation, if you like. He bought these heat lamps and we moved house and kind of had a little garden in the cellar to grow stuff.”

Louis said, “Cannabis.” It wasn’t a question; more of a statement, really. In their time, he and Harry had seen enough policing documentaries late on a Wednesday night that they knew exactly what kind of plants people cultivated in darkened rooms in their houses with heat lamps. Turning up his nose in disgust, he slowly shook his head at Harry. What kind of injustice was it, that someone as incredible as his fiance wasn’t allowed a baby because he’d made one stupid mistake, and yet it was quite all right for this girl to have a child when she was growing drugs in the cellar of her house? Not that anyone knew about that, he supposed. It was beyond unfair.

“Well, we aren’t growing tomatoes down there!” she snapped. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closed her red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry. Sorry. Yeah, cannabis; just a little bit, you know? Or at least, that was the plan. But when you took Alice, I panicked and called the police – like any sane person would – and then Rupe woke up and asked what the hell I was doing, and then he told me…he’d been dealing. Selling it to people, you know?”

“Most people would hopefully notice that their partner had been drug trafficking behind their back,” Harry coolly reminded her. He couldn’t imagine being that naive; he and Louis shared almost everything together – every secret, every moment, practically every breath…the fact that she could possibly have not known this was almost alien to him.

“Yeah, well, I don’t like to think about it. Would you? It’s illegal and it’s nasty and yeah, I’m ashamed! So I just let him get on with it. But…we’ve got that much stuff packed away that we could get put away for dealing for a very long time.”

“Not our problem.”

Louis eyes were almost as cold as his heart would have appeared to be; his tone was flat and unforgiving, and it made a light shudder ripple down Harry’s spine as he imagined having Louis speak to you so mercilessly, unremorsefully. Micheline wasn’t far from beginning to beg, and from what he could see, Louis wasn’t affected in the slightest.

Of course, Harry knew that was a lie; he could feel every inch of Louis’ turmoil from the way the older man was trembling against him, and the conflicted expression in his cerulean eyes, which to a stranger would have looked hard and pitiless, but Harry knew they were simply a disguise for the barely restrained compassion that was locked safely behind them. Louis didn’t _want_ to feel sympathy for the stupid young girl with the hair that was a mixture of sapphire and violet, who had forgotten her baby because she was more interested in polluting herself, who had never been particularly kind to either of them.

Why should she deserve the baby that they so desperately wanted when she had always behaved so badly towards her child? When she didn’t even seem to _care_? It was injustice at its peak, and Louis was so, so angry about it.

“W-what do you mean?” gasped Micheline, pale grey eyes wide with shock.

“Exactly what I said. You messed up, not us. Its your mistake; you can sort it out.”

“No, you don’t understand! I need your help! I can’t go to prison! I love Rupe – I can’t live without him! You have to help me, please, please, don’t –” she broke down in noisy, ugly sobs.

“We don’t owe you anything. You’ve screwed up, you’ve messed up your life, so you can deal with the concequences. Nobody ever did us any favours; why should we help you?” His voice was hard and so were his eyes, which were like balls of blue-tinted ices in his eye-sockets; his fingers gripped Harry’s shirt harshly and he showed no sign of relenting.

Puddles of mascara pooled in Micheline’s eyes and poured like filthy black rivers down her white cheeks, leaving streaks where they washed away her foundation and left ugly lines down her face like dirty footprints in snow. For the first time, she had completely lost her humility, her attitude, all the sarcasm – in fact, Harry wouldn’t have been surprised to see her get down on her knees and beg. It made him feel uncomfortable to see that she had been completely ruined by this; this was true helplessness, and as she stared pleadingly at Louis with wet eyes, Harry felt absolutely awful. Just because nobody had helped them didn’t mean that they couldn’t help others! Perhaps the world had never been kind to them, but why should they repay it by being cruel to other people? That wasn’t how it worked.

Tugging on Louis’ sleeve, he murmured, “Lou, please. Look at her. You – we can’t just leave her like that. She hasn’t even told us what she wants yet.”

A frown was the first acknowledgment he got, and even that took several minutes before Louis’ expression thawed enough to change. “It’ll be illegal, and we’ve broken enough laws already, I think. Why should we help her, Harry? Nobody ever helped us, not really. We had to fend for ourselves; its about time someone else had a turn.”

“That’s not true. Niall helped us, and Kylie’s lot helped us, and I’m sure Liam put in a good word for me in court – and our families helped us pack up when we were leaving, didn’t they? And she gave me a job, at least. You know I can’t get much work after what I’ve done. Just because we’ve had a hard time doesn’t give us the right to make life hard for other people!” He softly stroked the back of Louis’ hand with his thumb, trying to coax him, persuade him. “Please, Lou; just listen to her. We can’t turn her down before we know what she wants.”

After a couple of moments, Louis’ expression softened slightly and he shook his head wearily at Harry, removing the hand from his spine and cupping his cheek with it instead. “Of all the people to put in prison, and I’ll never understand why they chose you, love,” he whispered. “You have one of the kindest hearts I’ve ever known.”

Snorting, Harry reminded him, “They didn’t really care much about that, if I’m honest. Murder is murder.” He leaned his face into Louis’ hand, then turned his head so that he could kiss his palm. “Listen to her? For me?”

Louis sighed heavily. “You’re too nice for your own good, you know.” After placing a quick kiss onto Harry’s nose, he turned back to the whimpering girl with a slightly stern expression, his hand once again finding Harry’s back as if he couldn’t help but touch him; rubbing carefully up and down his spine like the younger boy helped him to keep a clear head. “You heard him; I’m listening. But make it quick.” He fixed her with a calculating look.

“We’re leaving,” she blurted out, and the moment she’d said it her gaze dropped almost guiltily to the floor, as if she was ashamed to have said it.

Frowning, Louis asked, “Who’s leaving?”

“And where are you going?” demanded Harry.

She refused to look at them. Her pale eyes flickered across the ground and wouldn’t leave it, as if she was in disgrace. It made Harry feel somewhat uneasy, knowing that whatever she was about to say next made her feel uncomfortable…made her feel _guilty._ He didn’t like that at all.

“We don’t really know yet,” Micheline admitted. “But Rupe said we can’t stay here. We can’t get arrested and locked up; we _can’t._ He sold that crap to enough people to have got a decent amount of money saved up; we’re going to leave the country.”

Louis snorted. “Right. Listen, darling, we already thought of that – it’s not as easy as you think. Believe me; Harry and I already had a long, hard think about that one, and you really have _no_ idea how hard it is to vanish off the radar. There’s eyes everywhere; everything watches. Cameras, scanners, computers – _people._ Someone always sees. You wouldn’t make it past customs. They’ll be looking for you.” Beside him, Harry had gone weirdly still; he blinked and turned to look at him. “Harry? Are you all right?”

“You can’t,” Harry choked, and his own eyes fell to Alice, widening in horror at the very thought that Micheline might leave and take her beautiful, perfect daughter with her. She wouldn’t be coming back; she couldn’t, not if she really was going to be running from the police. Which meant that he might never see Alice again. His hand reached out to nudge hers, and her tiny fingers wrapped around his index finger, gripping him very hard – as if she understood his sudden urge to hold her tight…his need for reassurance.

“I have to!” Micheline’s eyes were wet and she was clearly feeling some kind of strong emotion – either anger, misery, or possibly a combination of both. She stared straight at him, and he stared helplessly back, feeling his lips start to quiver. Shaking her head sadly, she held out her arms, and Louis reluctantly reached out and placed baby Alice against her chest while Harry watched numbly. “I can’t stay here. Because if I do, then Rupe won’t. He won’t stay with me. I love him, but I don’t think for one second that he would go to prison for me. It’s not that kind of love.”

“Love is love!” insisted Louis, as if she’d personally insulted him by saying it. “If you love someone, you’ll do anything for them! I’d go to prison for Harry in a heartbeat, just like he would for me. He’s already been – not for me, but for someone _like_ me. If Rupe really loves you, then he’ll do anything for you, like Harry would for me.”

“No. Not Rupe. He’s the most beautiful coward you’ll ever meet in your life – he does more for himself than he’ll ever do for anyone else. I love him too much to ever leave him, and most of the time I pretend not to notice…but I know what he’s like. He wouldn’t give anything up for me; if I want to keep him, I’ll have to chase him. I’ll have to stay by his side, because if he thinks there’s any chance that anything will happen to him, then he’ll _run._ He won’t wait.” She smiled sadly, her own mouth wobbling bravely. “You say you’d do anything for someone you love. I’ll do anything for Rupe. If that means giving up everything for him…then I’ll do it.”

“You can’t take her!” Harry half screamed; Louis had to throw his arm around his waist and haul him backwards with all of his strength, keeping the younger man from hurling himself at the silently crying girl, with her red-rimmed eyes and barely restrained guilt. “You _can’t_! You can’t take her away from me; please, please don’t, you can’t do this, it’s not fair, it’s not _fair_ –”

“Harry, don’t!” Louis snatched hold of him, turned him around so that he faced him and had his back to Micheline, and Harry found his face being buried somewhere against Louis’ neck and he cried – a horrible, strangled little noise as hot tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes – because Louis had him safe, as always, restrained in his arms, and that meant that he was safe for now. He could cry into Louis and Louis would stop anyone from seeing, even if he couldn’t stop the pain. An odd little stifled whimper found its way into the crook of Louis’ neck and Harry moaned faintly, and hands glided carefully up and down his back, reassuringly gripping the fabric of his jumper. As always, Louis was doing what he did best; comforting him. Harry sobbed stupidly against him, and Louis whispered condolences into his thick curls while the younger boy shuddered and gasped breathlessly in his arms.

“Come on,” whispered Louis, “come on; shhh. Shhh…it’s okay, Harry, come on, please don’t… you’re all right. Please, babe. Don’t get all upset over this, come on. We’re together in this, like always. You and me. Come on, Harry, come on…”

“She can’t,” whispered Harry. His eyes were aching, welling up with fresh tears, his arms thrown around Louis’ neck, holding their bodies together, because he didn’t know if he could stand to let go. He needed _someone_ to hold. “Please, Louis, you can’t let her take Alice away, you can’t let her, you _know_ how much I love her…Louis…” He was properly crying now, tears dribbling down his face, closing his eyes and feeling the tears seep through his eyelashes anyway.

Louis buried his hands inside Harry’s hair, sifting through layers of heavy brown curls, feeling them slip silkily through his fingers and wishing he could do something more. He tried kissing him instead, brushing his lips to the corner of Harry’s mouth, to his collarbone, against his cheek, but Harry didn’t show much reaction other than to tremble even harder. As they clung to each other, Louis could feel Harry’s heartbeat banging fiercely between their chests, hear broken sobs slipping out of him, as if his heart was breaking inside him and all Louis could do was listen to it fracture, tearing itself to pieces even as it he felt it beating.

“I know. Trust me, I know, and I’m so sorry. But you have to stay strong, Harry, for me? I love you. Don’t let this break you, babe; not now. Come on. Shh.” He pulled Harry’s head onto his shoulder, hands gently sliding his hands out of the curls he had entangled them in and allowing his arms to tighten on Harry’s waist. Lips hovering by Harry’s ear, he murmured, “Be strong for me, babe. You’re amazing, and I love you so much. Just…please.”

Taking a shuddering breath, Harry nodded, and kissed him back on the underside of his jaw, a shaky little brush of his mouth, because somehow it helped him to feel a little calmer to feel that he was reassuring Louis too, not that Louis really needed reassuring. “Okay,” he whispered.

Giving him a squeeze on the arm, Louis nodded. “Well done. Keep it together, okay? Keep it together.” His eyes flashed onto Micheline’s; he saw her flinch, like his icy glare had seared her pale skin and left burns there, as if every second of eye contact was another burn. “We’ve listened, and now you can listen to me – you may not have realized, but Harry really, really cares about Alice. God, I do too. So you’d better take care of her, do you get me?”

Micheline blinked in shock at him. “What? I’m not taking her _with_ me, are you mental?”

Louis _stared._ He was completely confused, perhaps even more so than she was. “Huh?”

Beside him, Harry had frozen again, rooted to the spot with desperate hopefulness, like he was sensing a final chance but was almost afraid to consider that it might happen, just in case it didn’t. His eyes were wide and eager, and Louis wondered whether he was getting his hopes up unnecessarily, whether he ought to discourage it in case it would upset him later, but how could he do that? He couldn’t take Harry’s last hope away from him; that would be too cruel.

“I can’t take a baby with me! It’s going to be hard enough sorting out the paperwork to get Rupe and I out of the country; you really think I can find a way out of the country for a baby, too? Alice doesn’t even _have_ a passport! God, what did you think I was going to ask you? I need you to take care of her for me. She needs a family and I’m not dumping her and leaving her for the social to bring up! I know you guys will take better care of her than I ever could.” She looked wistful. “If you two don’t take her in, I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do with her.”

Harry’s eyes were wide. “You mean…you mean you want to give your baby…to us?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” said Louis brusquely. Harry could have punched him for saying it, but as Louis continued, he had to admit that it was the truth. “You can’t just give two strangers your baby. They’ll take her away from us in a heartbeat.”

“Not if I give my consent! If I name you as the legal guardian for her then I’m pretty sure it’s allowed; Rupe said he thinks that’s how it works. I can write you a letter and I’ll send it to the social. He’s looking up the address right now. Please don’t make me leave her to become a piece of the system. If she stays with you guys, I know she’ll have a home…two people who love her. I know you care about her; I really do. I know you don’t like me, Louis, but I’m begging you.” She met his gaze unflinchingly, for the first time, and his grip on Harry tightened involuntarily in response. “Don’t let your dislike for me influence your decision on what Alice’s life will be like.”

Louis couldn’t look at the desperation in Harry’s eyes; he couldn’t bear to see it. If Micheline changed her mind, Harry would be absolutely shattered by having his very last hope flaunted beneath his nose and then snatched away, but Louis couldn’t just sit back and let her shove her baby at them without thinking. “Won’t you miss her?”

“Yes! Of course I will! But this way, at least I know she’s going to a loving home instead of being dumped somewhere and taken in by a system where half the kids grow up feeling like they were never wanted.” Searchingly, she scanned Alice’s solemn face, looking down at her and holding her tightly. “I wasn’t ready to be a parent. I always wanted to be a mum, but I wasn’t ready; that’s why I got so stressed; that’s why Rupe started messing around with drugs, just so he could calm me down. I didn’t look after her properly – and I’m not stupid. She used to cry when I didn’t pick her up; now, nine times out of ten, she cries when I do. She says your name when I come into her room every morning, Harry, how do you think that feels? I have to see my own daughter look disappointed when she sees my face!” Shaking her head, she managed a very wavery smile down at Alice. “I’m going to give her what she deserves. Two guys who love her. Every girl’s dream, right?” A very small laugh managed to escape her, but she wasn’t really amused. “Take her?” Pleadingly, she held Alice out towards them, as if she wasn’t sure she’d be able to let her go if they prolonged it any longer.

Harry practically snatched her out of Micheline’s arms, and seconds later he was holding her fiercely against his chest, breathing heavily in and out and protectively leaning away from the blue-haired girl as if she might change her mind and try to grab Alice back. Louis worriedly eyed Micheline and comfortingly rubbed Harry’s back as a reminder for him to stay calm.

“Where will you go?” he asked almost sympathetically.

She shrugged and flicked a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “Wherever Rupe thinks is best. I’ve long since learnt to trust his judgment on these things – besides, even if I didn’t agree, it’s not like he’d give me a choice.” Swallowing, she lowered her head to kiss Alice carefully on the forehead, leaving a ghostly scarlet mouth on the delicate porcelain skin of her baby’s face. Then, her eyes locked with Harry’s for a moment. She said nothing, but a silent message passed between them, and Harry nodded at her, as if she’d given him a command.

“We’ll take care of her,” he promised.

“Good.”

Micheline abruptly turned around so quickly that her wildly blowing hair almost flicked him right in the face. Folding her slender arms, she gripped her elbows, gripping them like she was holding herself together before she could fall apart at the seams, and then hurried off in the opposite direction, apparently choosing herself a new path rather than following the existing one. Her black converse padded softly on the grass and left no trace that anyone had ever trodden there; her tread was too light to leave a mark. She walked quickly, practically running, as if she couldn’t bear to linger, as if she had to leave before she lost her self-control and came running back with her arms held out. The hill sloped gently downwards; she followed the slope and stiffly walked into the wind without flinching or turning back – the last that either of them saw of her was a cloud of aquamarine hair floating like a halo above her head as she vanished from sight.

“Okay,” Harry began weakly, “what the hell just happened?”

Louis gave a shocked half-laugh. “I think…I think we just had a baby, Harold. In a manner of speaking. God, pinch me. Please. I need to know that this isn’t a dream.”

“Sorry, I can’t do that. Because on the offchance that it _is_ a dream, I’d rather not wake up.” Harry looked down at Alice, who was staring up at him with wide eyes, as if she was just as shell-shocked as he and Louis. “Tell me this is real,” he breathed, touching her tiny fingers with one of his own. “Tell me this beautiful little girl is ours, Lou. I need to hear someone say it.”

“Only one way to find out…”

Louis’ fingers grazed his arm, trailing lightly down his bicep and tracing the faintest, most delicate of swirls down the pale skin. He tapped his fingertips gently down Harry’s skin, swallowed – and then he took a tiny bit of skin between his thumb and forefinger, and pinched him very softly. Closing his eyes, Harry swallowed and prepared to feel one of the most surreal moments of his life drift away. It took him a few minutes, a lot of shallow breathing, and then one eye warily opening again before he realized that maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t _going_ to fade. Maybe just once, it wasn’t going to be snatched away from underneath their noses.

“Real,” Harry breathed. “Good God, Lou, I think it might _actually_ be real. I don’t – I can’t believe it. I don’t understand how this can have happened…to _us_. Since when has anything good _ever_ happened to _us_? Pinch me again!” Scrabbling at Louis’ hand, he placed it back on his wrist, and Louis obligingly gave him another token pinch; a far harder one, hard enough to make Harry wince and bite down on his lip to hold back a cry of protest.

“Sorry, sorry!” Quickly snatching his fingers away away, Louis hastily rubbed the little red patch of skin where he’d pinched a little too hard, trying to rub it better as if Harry were a toddler who’d hurt himself. “God, sorry. I got carried away. Here; you pinch me. It could be my dream, after all. Go on, a proper pinch! Knock yourself out.”

“I can do better than that,” Harry murmured, and then he was diving forwards and sandwiching a grumbling Alice between them as he bit Louis very hard on the collarbone, hard enough that they both flinched at the resulting crunch and when Louis yelped and yanked himself away, he stood swearing and rubbing at the purple ring of teethmarks on his neck.

“Jesus! I didn’t mean quite _that_ hard!” he complained.

There was a kind of beautiful, irrepressible grin that couldn’t quite be controlled, and it was that kind of grin which was plastered across Harry’s face right then. He scrabbled at the hem of Louis’ shirt and grabbed a handful of fabric, squeezing it tightly with excitement; if it had been skin, Louis would have been crying in pain. As it was, he just smiled fondly, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and cuddling him from behind. He turned his head to nuzzle Harry’s cheek with the tip of his nose. Smiling, Harry leaned his head against Louis and contentedly allowed his curls to tickle the older boy’s forehead.

“Sorry. But I guess this is proof, then – we’re both awake. This isn’t some amazing dream, Lou. We’ve got a _baby._ ”

Louis reached and grabbed a handful of the tight little ringlet curls at the nape of Harry’s neck, and he tugged on them, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough for Harry to feel the intensity of his passion and to understand his intentions. Tilting his head awkwardly into a suitable position, he captured Louis’ lips in a clumsy but well-intended kiss.

Bearing in mind that they weren’t in the most comfortable of positions, at some point Harry found himself being wrenched around so that they could kiss properly, Louis holding him by the arms and raining relentless kisses onto his pinkening lips while Alice watched in wide-eyed surprise, torn between confusion and the kind of unashamed fascination that only young children possess. Chuckling against Louis’ lips, Harry managed to slide his hand in between their bodies and cover Alice’s eyes with his long fingers. Somehow, he figured that his wasn’t the kind of kiss for innocent eyes to see.

It carried on for…a while. Meaning to say that by the time Alice decided to stop being patient and started grizzling moodily, tapping Harry’s chest with her fist to try and make him move rather than sitting in Harry’s arms with a martyred expression of endurance, like she was doing them a favour simply by being there…well, by that time, by the time they finally took notice of her silent scolding and pulled apart, Harry’s lips were swollen, more red than pink, and his cheeks were flushed, ivy-tinted eyes sparkling with excitement – Louis had just abandoned all attempts at staying calm, and he was laughing giddily at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Eyes the colour of the sea on a beautiful day (the kind of day one didn’t much see in England, really) when the sun caught it and made it sparkle and dance as if it were made of a thousand fragments of broken mirrors. An expression which glowed like the world’s brightest lightbulb, excitement causing sparks to appear in his eyes. The kind of blush that Harry rarely got to see, because usually when it was present they were otherwise engaged and his eyes were somewhat busy roving over other aspects of his perfection. His eyes picked out the flaws, too; a tiny mark on his chin where Louis had nicked himself whilst shaving; a strip of white on his tanned wrist where his watch had given him tan-lines; a tiny little bit of Harry’s saliva glistening on his lower lip, where Harry was so tempted to kiss it away…

As always, Louis was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“I love you,” he murmured, and his fingers twisted in the roots of Louis’ hair. “God, I love you.”

“This won’t be easy, you know,” Louis told him, meeting his burning gaze full on. “There’s going to be a lot to deal with; uncomfortable questions will be asked, and we’re going to have a lot of responsibility to deal with from now on. You know that, don’t you? This is going to be far from easy. It was never going to be, I suppose – but now it’ll be even less easier than I imagined. I never knew falling in love with someone could be so complicated.” He smiled lovingly.

Harry snorted and kissed the corner of his mouth. “I know that, you fool,” he said fondly, “since when was anything we’ve done _ever_ easy? Easy is boring. Might be nice to be bored every now and then, but nah; I’d sooner be us any day. I don’t care how hard things get; it’ll always be you and me, yeah? Like it’s always been?” Despite his confidence, he couldn’t help but glance doubtfully at Louis for confirmation, like he half expected Louis to laugh in his face and say ‘yeah, right! You’re on your own, mush!’ “We’ll get through anything they throw at us – all the paperwork, the appeals, the court cases, all the nastiness and opposition and every single obstacle they put in our way, right, Lou? Together?”

Louis looked him right in the eyes, and he saw that little flash of worry nestling deep in the midst of the green; a tiny shadow of doubt hiding inside the ivy and moss. A part of him still couldn’t believe that after all this time, Harry was still afraid – still half believing that he couldn’t have all of this, like he didn’t deserve it. Carefully, Louis rested his hands on Harry’s shoulders, and his stood on his tiptoes so that he could reach to whisper right into Harry’s curl-hidden ears, somewhat turned on by the fact that he had to do so. Of course he didn’t have a thing for Harry’s height advantage! That would be silly.

He pressed his lips to the edge of Harry’s ear, feeling Harry quiver as soft lips grazed his earlobe. “Together,” he agreed. 


	16. Chapter 16

Alice ran ahead of them, her little legs sending her careening enthusiastically forwards so that her baggy grey pleated skirt was in serious danger of falling down and getting caught around her ankles. Her bright red school sweater was equally loose, and had a stray grass stain on the cuff already. Harry huffed fondly; he didn’t know how she did it – it felt like he spent all day every day washing her little red sweaters and ironing them almost obsessively, to the point of military perfection, and then watching her systematically filthy them all from the moment he pulled them over her head. It was probably something to do with the adorable enthusiasm that she had apparently inherited from Lou.

Her dark, wavy hair had been carefully restrained into cute little bunches, courtesy of Lou; he was so much better at that kind of thing. Harry had no experience with dealing with hair – while Louis liked his hair to be gelled and raked precisely into place, the extent of Harry’s capabilities was shaking his head around so that his curls were tossed into a more satisfying arrangement. For some reason, Louis had been appointed chief hairdresser in their household.

Harry almost wanted someone to pinch him again, like Louis obligingly had several years ago, as he watched their daughter – _their_ _daughter_! – almost stumble over her own feet and fall headfirst into a puddle, catching herself just before she plummeted to the ground. She had about as much control of her gangly limbs as he did, and it amused him that she had inherited so many of his and Louis’ traits even though she had no blood relation to them whatsoever. He forgot sometimes. She was so like them, really. She had Louis’ impish sense of humour and Harry’s mischievous grin; her hair was not curly, but wavy, and darker than Harry’s, but somehow very similar; Louis liked to ruffle her hair and call her ‘little curly-mop’ while she squealed in protest. Another trait that she appeared to have caught was Louis’ infectious laugh, and his love of life; Harry didn’t think he’d met another child in his life who was so obsessed with everything. Alice was fascinated with anyone and everyone, just like Louis. It wouldn’t surprise Harry if she grew up to be a psychologist too, some day.

As Louis had predicted, things had been far from easy in the beginning. From the moment they’d dazedly carried Alice back down the beach and reappeared in their police-infested garden, they’d been swarmed with officials and forced into a seemingly endless legal battle while Micheline was sought after and people tried to convince them to let Alice go – like they ever would! In fact, Harry had refused to let her out of his sight for the first couple of weeks, even going so far as to insist that she shared his and Louis’ bed, so fearful was he that Micheline would change her mind and come back, demanding her daughter. Even Louis had a sneaking suspicion that if it weren’t for the drugs, and the panic, and the fear of losing her coward of a boyfriend, Micheline would never have handed Alice over in the first place.

It had been an incredible but extremely welcome surprise when she made good on her promise – when a signed and incredibly official letter came through to the adoptions offices insisting that Harry and Louis be made Alice’s legal parents. Micheline had even sent a copy of this letter to the social services, police, and several lawyers who apparently ‘owed her a favour’ (at least, that had been _their_ explanation when they turned up on the doorstep eagerly offering Harry and Louis their services in making sure that they won this particular legal battle once and for all. Wisely, Harry decided not to pry.) She had been incredibly thorough.

Thorough enough that a young murderer and his boyfriend the psychologist had taken the juryby storm and won the right to become fathers at last – in fact, they’d left absolutely no doubt in anyone’s mind as they stood together in the docks, Louis’ arm wrapped supportively around Harry’s waist, that they would be two of the best parents the world had ever seen. That they would love Alice as unfalteringly as they loved each other. Their earnestness, complete unity in the face of extreme stress and perhaps most of all, their unfaltering devotion to each other and their cause had all indirectly contributed to the verdict, and at the end of the day, Harry had driven almost illegally quickly to the temporary fostering arrangement where Alice had been left, and run into the house so fast that Louis had barely been able to keep up – and he had snatched Alice out of the cot she lay in and crushed her so fiercely against his chest that he gave her quite a shock and very nearly made her throw up all over him. Louis would never forget the way Harry had cried that day, with such happiness that his tears rained down on Alice’s head and left her bewildered and soggy, but far too delighted by being so enthusiastically hugged to be cross.

And now here they were, reaching the midpoint of Alice’s first term in her second year at the local primary school, where she’d settled in very nicely, thank you very much, and had wrapped everyone at the school around her little finger as easily as she had Harry and Louis – excepting, of course, one obnoxious boy in the year above who felt it had been his business to rudely demand why it was that she had two daddies; were they ‘poofters’? Alice had felt the need to correct his grevious misjudgment in calling her parents such an uncomplimentary term (not that she understood it, but his tone made things quite clear) and her idea of corrective behaviour turned out to be a well-aimed punch in the face. Clearly she had Harry’s temper as well as his cheek. Needless to say that Harry and Louis had given her a stern telling off for it, and she wouldn’t be doing it again…even if Louis _had_ hugged her a tiny bit tighter when they were putting her to bed last night, just because he was so proud that she wasn’t afraid to stick up for what she knew was right…and because he had to admire her right hook.

She was sprinting towards the school as fast as her little legs would carry her, while Harry and Lou walked behind her, hand in hand, standing so closely together that every so often Harry would tread on Louis’ feet. Still, Louis was in no way inclined to move. Until he had to go to work, he had absolutely no intention of leaving Harry’s side.

His new job wasn’t exactly the same as his old one had been; he had managed to find a role as the school guidance counsellor, a position which suited him incredibly well, because he loved kids, was fascinated by their minds, and was incredibly good at both understanding and communicating with them. It also gave him ample opportunity to make sure that Alice was okay, because neither of them saw any harm in hugging when they passed each other in the corridor, and Alice was always only too eager to chase him down the hallway, throw her arms around his legs and start gabbling to him about her day, even if it had only just started. Harry was almost jealous of him sometimes, that he got to spend the whole day near Alice, but he couldn’t stay that way when he came wandering through the school gates at home time to find the two people he loved most in the world, walking out through the main doors hand in hand. When, of course, Alice wasn’t riding on Louis’ shoulders, taking advantage of his services by using him as a horse.

Their fingers were interlocked together, and Louis swung their hands a little as he walked, almost wishing he could prolong the walk for a little longer. Harry struggled to find work because of his past, but he and Liam had managed to work out a deal where Harry helped him by popping down to prisons where Liam worked and having a little chat with the guys; he knew what he was talking about, after all. It was quite a matey thing, nothing formal, but Liam made sure he got paid for it, and Harry enjoyed the opportunity of being able to help people in the way he had been helped; it put a spring in his step, a smile on his face and cash in his pocket. It also tired him out, driving down to Doncaster and its surrounding areas on a semi-regular basis, but he managed, especially as Louis could always be counted on to do a school run – he worked there, after all.

Harry looked down at his hand and smiled at the neat little silver band that had been present for so long that it had started to feel like an extension of his hand. A similar circlet was present on Louis’ middle finger, too; Harry had taken the liberty of buying him an engagement ring, with a little money that he’d managed to save up here and there. They were planning a summer wedding; July the next year, when Harry had decided that Alice would be old and responsible enough to be able to carry the wedding rings up the aisle on a cushion on their wedding day. She was more than a little impatient for the big day to arrive, insisting that she _was_ big enough and she _was_ responsible enough – she always stumbled over the longer word, which never failed to put a smile on Harry’s face – and Louis echoed the sentiment, but he supposed he didn’t mind waiting. He wanted everything to be perfect for Harry, and for himself, and perfect it would be.

“Al!” called Harry, “wait for us!”

She hesitated for a split second, whirling around so that her dark hair caught the light and a couple of chestnut highlights were momentarily visible, glinting at the very roots. “Hurry up!” she yelled back cheekily, with a childish giggle, and then she was turning around and haring off towards the school again, waving at a friend of hers and struggling to catch up to him.

Harry shook his head affectionately, a warm smile flashing onto his face to mirror hers. “That child of ours is too cheeky for her own good, you know,” he told Louis with faint amusement, cuddling more closely against him and lightly skimming his fiance’s spine with his fingertips. “She’s a real little imp!”

“Of course she is; she takes after you,” countered Louis with a grin, ducking out of the way before Harry could playfully slap him, tutting in mock outrage. Before he could completely escape, Harry snagged him by the wrist and whirled him around, planting an enormous kiss right on his surprised mouth. Louis blushed like a schoolgirl, flustered by the gesture.

“Yuck!” Alice complained good-naturedly, making them both jump in surprise as they discovered that she was suddenly standing right beside them. She poked Louis in the leg and pulled a face at him. “Tell Dad to stop being so silly, Daddy; everyone’s _staring._ ”

“They’re just jealous of how much we love each other,” Harry told her in a silly voice, batting his eyelashes at Louis, who laughed and gave him a friendly tap on the backside, unable to stop himself from chuckling.

“Sorry, Al; he’s just an old romantic. What, we’re not embarrassing you, are we? We couldn’t have _that._ ” Grinning, he wound his arms around Harry’s neck and returned the kiss with a swift one of his own – not that Harry was going to let him get away _that_ easily. He deepened the kiss, lifting Louis slightly off the ground so that he wasn’t even standing on his toes; instead, he hovered a few millimetres off the floor. Louis sighed and his fingers twisted in Harry’s hair, and he tilted his head and made a resigned noise into Harry’s mouth, rolling his eyes as Harry rumbled a laugh at his complete lack of restraint. He’d never been very good at holding back.

“Urgh!” Alice protested, only half joking. She rained half-hearted punches onto Harry’s back, objecting fiercely. “Stop it, stop it, it’s embarrassing! Stop _eating_ each other! Dad, stop it!”

Of course, Harry took no notice, he smirked and intensified the sliding of his lips to an even less publicly acceptable level, and Louis groaned at him, pretending to be disapproving, and traced wobbly shapes on his back, attempting to order him to get off. Snorting, Harry nudged him with the tip of his nose and shook his head, and with a huff, Louis gave up; he wasn’t going to win, and in any case, he wasn’t entirely sure he _wanted_ to.

“Daaaaad,” Alice whined, “the bell’s going to go soon, we’re going to be _late._ ”

Pulling away with an extremely wet noise (the disgust on Alice’s face made the effort worth it; Harry could barely contain his laughter) Harry patted her on the shoulder. “All right then, missy; quit your moaning. I’ll let you go now.” He kissed Louis on the collarbone, then dropped to his knees to kiss Alice on the cheek. “Have a great day at school, honey. I love you.” Relocating his lips to murmur into her ear, he stage-whispered, fully knowing that Louis could hear every word, “make sure he behaves himself. Don’t let him get into trouble.”

Hands on her hips, Alice gave him a long look and said with the insight of someone three times her age, “When do I ever? He’d never get in trouble; his life wouldn’t be worth living if he did!”

Harry couldn’t help it; he laughed in sheer disbelief at the mischief behind it all. Eyes dancing, Alice stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek in return. “Bye, Dad!” Then she turned around and made a dash for the playground, screeching, “Michael, stop laughing at me! Your Mummy fell down and hurt her ankle ‘cos she was drunk, I know she did, so quit laughing at my Daddies. I’m gonna _get_ you!”

The boy, Michael, squealed in response, and started running in the opposite direction, giggling all the while; they’d been best friends since day one, and today was no different. Tutting, Harry straightened up and tucked a stray curl behind his ear as Louis turned to watch Alice leave. Tapping him on the arm, Harry watched him turn, and stepped forward to pull him into a hug.

“I mean it,” he murmured into Louis’ hair, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Louis laughed at him, lips tickling the pale skin of his neck as he kissed him. “You’re giving me an awful lot of leeway, there. Is there _anything_ you wouldn’t do?”

Rolling his eyes, Harry admitted, “Probably not. Go on, you fool, you’ll be late!”

Withdrawing, Louis took a couple of steps away, their fingers still linked, stretching their arms out between them. “Will you be here when I get back?”

“Of course I will. We’re having bacon tonight; make sure Alice remembers! Don’t let her swap her lunch for a packet of custard creams again. She’ll never eat her tea if she does.”

“I can be certain that she won’t have another whole packet of custard creams, seeing as last time, I gave them to her. I’ll tell her, though, just in case she finds another biscuit dealer.” Louis darted forwards to kiss him on the cheek. “I love you.” Then he turned and made a run for the gates, a bright pink satchel dangling from his left hand, yelling, “Alice, you forgot your school bag!”

Harry shook his head incredulously, then cupped his hands around his mouth and hollered, “LOUIS! I LOVE YOU TOO!”

Louis stopped dead, turned around and blew him a kiss, his eyes alight with love, amusement and a kind of mixture of exasperation and fondness – and then he whirled back to face the building, darted through the school gates and vanished in the churning mass of shrieking children and chatting parents.

Harry stood staring after him, his hand pressed against his cheek, covering the tingling patch of skin where Louis’ lips had grazed his face. “I love you,” he repeated.

“If only you knew just how much.”


End file.
